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Camps and Tramps 



IN THE 



ADIRONDACKS, 



AND 



GRAYLING FISHING IN NORTHERN MICHIGAN : 



A RECORD OF 



Summer Vacations in tiie Wilderness. 



BY 

/ 

A. JUDD NORTHJRUP. 






jVr JfftQii^ 




bVKACUSE, N. 

DAVIS, BAKDEEN & CO., PUBLISHERS. 

NEW YORK: r.AKER, THATT & CO. 

1880. 






Copyright, 1880, 

By A. JUDD NORTHRUP. 



PREFACE. 

The iacidents recorded in the following pages have been 
neither invented nor exaggerated to any appreciable de- 
gree. I have written in the belief that the actual doings of 
real personages, always and everywhere, have an interest 
of themselves quite independent of the manner of the tell- 
ing, if the telling be truthful. So much I meant to be 
sure of at all hazards. What we said, also, is perhaps as 
veraciously set forth as the average interviewer reports his 
unwilling victim. I have endeavored, indeed to give to 
the reader truthful pictures of the actual summer vacation 
life in the Adirondacks, to refresh the recollection of those 
who have camped and tramped where we did, and to bring 
back somewhat of their enjoyment of the lakes and moun- 
tains and streams ; and also to give to others who may 
read these records a reasonable, vivid and fair impression 
of the wilderness and the experiences of summer life there. 

The chapters on Grayling Fishing have been added, as 
having at least a cousinly relationship to the general sub- 
ject of the book. 

The wisest of men, off in the woods, on a summer vaca- 
tion, are "boys out of school;" and they seldom cany 
much of the "shop" with them from office, store or desk. 
The personages who appear in the following pages are no 
exception to the rule. Doubtless the}' could have talked 
any amount of philosophy, law, poetry, and wisdom of all 
sorts; but, indisputably, they did not. Indeed, I do not 
think the reader who has selected this book, from its title, 
for a leisure hoiu* by the fireside or under the trees, is look- 



|y TREFACE. 

in- between these covers for that kind of thing. I hope 
rather to meet his expectation that here is something of the 
woods woodsy, of the camp merry, of the streams trout-y. 
And I hope, also, that if he accompanies us "campers 
through our varied experiences in camp and tramp, he will 
sometime follow our example and our trail and get great 
good thereby. 
— My companions on these excursions were as follows:— 
To "Jock's Lake," H. H. Thompson, then of the United 
States Treasury, now in the Treasurer's office of the N. 1 . 
& E R R Co. ; Mr. Johnson, merchant, of Washington, 
D C • Professor Loomis, then of Manlius Academy, 
Manlius, N. Y. ; and E. J. Benson, merchant, then of 
Syracuse, now of Binghamton, N. Y. 

To " The St; Regis and Saranacs," D. H. Bruce, one of 
the editors of the Syracuse Daily Joimial. 

To "The Beaver River Waters," Hon. W. J. Wallace, 
U S District Judge of the Northern District of New 
York- D H Bruce of the Syracuse Daily Journal; and 
C. h'. Lyman, of the Syracuse Daily Standard, all of 
Syracuse, N. Y. 

On the trip, " Booneville to Saratoga," my son Edwin 
F Northrup, then eleven years of age. 

To "Cranberry Lake and the Oswegatchie Waters, 
Reuben Wood, the " Captain;" Hon. George N. Kennedy 
lawyer and Ex-Senator; Hon. Irving G. Vann, lawyer and 
late Mayor of Syracuse; John J. Meldram, then Sheriff of 
Onondaga County; and William B. K"-k, Jr. all of 
Syracuse, N. Y. ; and E. B. White, Justice of the Peace, of 
Hermon, N. Y. 

On the excursion, - Grayling Fishing in Michigan," Hon. 
S M Cutcheon, U. S. District Attorney, of Detroit, Mich. 

A. J. N. 
Syracuse, N. Y., March 24. 1880. 



CONTENTS. 



JOCK'S LAKE. 

Pagk. 

Chapter I.— Bensou discourses of the woods— The 
start— Ou the way— Utica— Early mornino— Old 
clothes— Who we were— Breakfast, pipes, 'coffee- 
pots, art, and music— Wilkinson's— The "snmdi»-e" 
— Punky !— Taroil— A cheerful ' 'g-ood night. "_."... 11 

Chapter II. —My fir.st trout— Kaui and roads— Walk 
and talk— Things seen and unseen- Our cabin- 
Boats and neighbors— A busy camp— Supper— A 
snug fit— "The smudge! The smudge!" 26 

Chapter III. —Morning in the forest— Camp scene— A 
trout breakfast — Trout - tishiug — Lemonade and 
' 'sticks"— Sunset— Heart of the forest 40 

Chapter IV.— Thompson goes a-tishing— Lunch and 
slumber— Rabbit-stew— "The fly"— Forest sounds- 
Benson "goes for" a deer— Buck fever— .>rimic bat- 
tles—Benson's story of the deer-hunt 52 

Chapter V.- Sunday in the woods — Veneer— The 
moral "Isothermal"— Sunday rowing— Evening on 
the water ' 67 

Chapter VI. —Jerking venison — Short supplies— 
Trap.s— Good night ! and fare well !— Out ! 72 



THE ST. REGIS AND SARANACS 
Chapter VII.— On the way to Meachain Lake— Val- 
ley of the St. LaAvre.nce— Mountains— Wilderness 
romances —The Duancs — Darkness — Stumps and 
dumps — Fuller 's 79 

Chapter VIII.— :\Ieacham Lake— Fuller's— Guides 
and guests— Programme— Fishing— "Last May"— 
Up the inlet— Naughty guides— An honest tale." 86 

Chapter IX.— Down the outlet— Still- water— A flood- 



Yi CONTENTS. 



Page. 



ed camp— Up tlie rapids— A damp Editor— Chris, s 
^okes— A shot at a deer— ' 'It's mighty queer' —Hunt 

'ing a trail in the dark— A roof and a dry bed Jo 

Chapter X.— The Editor departs— "Vocal chords"— 

The schoolma'ams— Shaving the Sheriff 103 

Chapteh XI.— a new departure— ISIcCollum's—Tele- 
o-raph poles— St. Regis Lake— Paul Smith's— Even- 
ino- at Paul's— Jolly guide— The old Professor- 
Trout from Osgood P^ond— Matters and thuigs at 

Paul's ^^'' 

Chapteh XII —An adventure— Saranac excursion— 
"Sangemo's" — A merry party — Upper Saranac 
Lake— Cox's— The sun-browned invalid— 1 ime rec- 
ord—Talk and tobacco — College boys— St Regis 
Mountain — Pictures — Return to Meacluim— 1 he 
vouno- Reverend— McCollum— Gas-light— Pavements 

-Out! .-----■- 1^^^ 

THE' BEAVER RIVER WATERS. 

Ch\ptkk XIII.— The Judge beckons— "(;all a jury" 
—Black River R. R.— Beach's Bridge— Fentons— 
-No 4 "—Beaver Lake and River— Off for Smith s 
Lake— Wardwell's—" When 1 git time"— A crooked 
river and a dizzy sun-The wicked fly— Camp at 
South Branch— JMan lost ! l-'^ 

Chapter XIV. - "Who-o-o '."-Snakes ami boots- 
Slumber— Rabbits— A mystery solved— The lost is 
found— A martyr— Albany Carry— Cookery— 1 he 
Editor overwhelmed— Trout— Smith s Lake— Syra- 

cuse Camp" ^"^ 

Ch \pter XV.— Morning — Cross-bills— Surroundings 
-Wandering trout— Slaughtered babies— Bait vs. fly 
—"Between hay and grass"— Up the m'et— ^a- 
tiiuo- 1"— John ' 'the talker"— Fishing record— Broken 



rod— Judicial triumph 



14 



Chapter XVI. -The Editor's revenge-When it mins 
—Breaking cainp-A stormy exit-Bad l)lood-Out- ^^^^ 

ward — Out 

BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

Chapter XVII. -Correspondence— "Engage Brincker- 



CONTENTS. Vll 

Page. 

hoof" — A promise kept — John — "Going in" — Our 
outfit — On the march — Arnokl's — "Old Forge" — 
College boys — Their stor}^ — Up the river — "Stickney 
Camp, of blessed memory" 159 

Chapter XVIIT. — A morning call — John a "good pro- 
vider" — Baiting the buoys — Fishing — A broken rod 
and a sad heart — A Sunday on Bald .Mountain — 
What we saw — A bonanza — A palpable hit — Excur- 
sions to South Branch and North Branch 171 

Chapter XIX. — INIigratory impulse and Ned's teasing 
— A delicate matter — Awaiting John's verdict — 
Farewell to camp — Eastward, Ho! — Onions — Heavy 
loads over the carry — Seventh Lake — A good 
camp site — The lad's cup full — Neighbors — Oif for 
Raquette Lake — A word for ' 'John Brown's Tract" . . 179 

Chapter XX. — The carry of evil renown — The lost 
pipe — Brown's Tract Inlet — Raquette Lake — Our 
camp at "AVood's Place" — Rest for the weary 187 

Chapter XXI. — South Inlet — The clerk— Hathorn's 
Camp — Forked Lake — Steam and smoke — Wind and 
waves — Bass-fishing by moonlight — Camp among 
the birches — Camp views — Old Alvah Dunning — 
"U. S. Mail!" — Camp robbed — The professional 
camp 192 

Chapter XXII. — Storm at night — Loose tent-peg — 
"Muling it out" — Folded tent— To Blue Mountain 
Lake — Rivers and lakes — Holland's — Ned— John_-_ 201 

Chapter XXIII. — Farewell to John — Up Blue ]\Ioun- 
tain, and sights from its top — Descent — Packing — 
Wakely — Outward b}^ buck-board — North river — 
Saratoga and a sleeping-car 207 

THE OSWEGATCHIE WATERS. 

Chapter XXIV. — The conspirators — Off for Cran- 
berry Lake — The 'Squire lost — Clarksboro — Inm 
Works — Captain and Senator go a-fishing in a cockle- 
shell — Morning ride to the lake — Reach camp — 
What the dam does 215 

Chapter XXV. — Captain's morning call — "Up and 
dressed" — Guides — Food problem — Brandy Brook — 
The Senator "yanks" — The Mayor's victory 223 



Viii CONTENTS. 

Pagk. 

Chapter XXVI.— Grass river— The Reservoir— Joe 
Bolio— The Sheriff's joke— Flood wood— "No thor- 
oughfare" — "I've been here"— Rat-hole camp — 
Council — Return — Trout-pool — " In May ' — Jhe 
'Squire and the "boss trout"— Grass River trip ended, ^^b 

Chapter XXVIL— Brandv Brook trout— Down the 
i-iver— Trouting on Basin Brook— The solitary fish- 
erman— Stimulating a virtue 238 

Chapter XXVIIL— Deer hunt— Up the Oswegatchie ^ 
—Shot at a deer— Sights and sounds— Cage's spnng- 
hole— Mv "big trout"— Glorious sport— Landed !— 
"How large?" ^^^ 

Chapter XXIX.— Twilight on the river— "The hand- 
kerchief"— "Jacking"— A deer shot— Afloat m a 
gale— Driven ashore— Prospecting— The building of 
the camp— Night— Back to the home-camp ^o^ 

Chapter XXX.— The blue herons— Good shot-Junior 
shoots a deer— Breaking camp— Farewells— The true 
story of the "boss trout"— The 'Squire lost— About 
Cranberry Lake -^"^ 

Chapter XXXL— A didactic chapter— R. R. Lines 
around the Adirondacks— Entrances— General sug- 

gestions 

GRAYLING FISHING-NORTHERN MICHIGAN. 

Chapter XXXII.— Detroit to Grayling— Down the 
^u Sable— Boats— Polers—" Sweepers — My hrst 
grayling— Camp— Second day— More graylmg— A 
good leap " ' 

Chapter XXXIIL— "What I know" about grayling 
and grayling streams— I. Graylmg streams —11. 
Habits of grayling, etc.-Mr. Wiley's record, six 
days.-.-. "^ 

Chapter XXXIV.— Across, east to west— Petoskcy— 
Boyne-Charlevoix— "Turner's favorite"-Up the Jor- 
(\an—AVebster's— Jeff., the w-ise poler— "June s the 
time"— Trout in the Jordan— Charlevoix— Lake Ex- 
cursion to Island of Mackinaw^— The Island— Mack- 
inaw to Detroit by steamer— Sunset— Talk— Storm- 
Over the gang-plank and homeward. 



JOCIvS LAKE. 



I 



r 



j]!AMPg AJMD Jl^AMPg 



IN THE 



ADIRONDACKS. 



CHAPTER I. 

"It's settled that you are to go!" said Benson as he 
removed his pipe from his lips, and blew a mighty gust 
of smoke, which dimmed the gas-light of his bachelor 
apartments like a fog. 

"Who settled all that, I beg to know ?" 

" Well, I've settled it. Here you are, as thin as a shad; 
you would be pale, only you're beginning to turn yellow, 
like the covers of your confounded law books; your blood 
liasn't the vitality of skimmed milk; as to eating, why! our 
landlady makes a silk dress off from your board every three 
months; and nothing will set you right like a good time in 
the North Woods. There, now ! That's enough to con- 
vince anj^ man what he ought to do; but since you haven't 
enough strength left to form a good resolution, I've made 
one for you." 

"Faithful are the wounds of a friend! even if he goes at 



13 jock's LAIvE. 

ybu with a tomahawk," replied I; " hut you see, 1113' dear 
old boy, I can't take the medicine you prescribe, — the treat- 
ment is too heroic. If I am the dihipidated individual you 
picture me, with your rather free-hand stylic of (hawiiiii", 
]\o\\' am 1 ever to cnduie the hardshii)s of a fortnii;lil in tiic 
Adirondacks?" 

"Yes, l»ul you see — " 

"Yes, I think I do see, indeed; first, the mosquitoes, 
then the thunder-storms, the Ions: hard tramps, the sleepiuii' 
out of doors on the ground — what j'ou call cam[)inu' out — 
and living on your indigestil)liN&fip jacks and salt pork — 
and not a drug store or a doctor within fifty miles! Do 
you think lam a fit subject for such barbarities?" 

— '1)ut 3'ou see, " said he, as soon as I gave him opportunity, 
' 'you are not to be the miserable effigy of b man that you now 
are; you'll l)egiu to mend as soon as you begin to pack up 
yoiu- clothes and fishing tackle; a few miles of corduroy 
roads will fill you with n(!W desires, "^and he smiled 
furtively behind a fresh smoke cloud; — "the piu'e breath 
of the forest, the sturdy tramp, the free life, the — " 

"How about the mosquitoes? " 
— "the numberless allurements aud employments of 
camp life" — 

"Aud what do you say about the tremendous storms 
.you've told about?" 

" — the fascination of trout fishing, the — " 

"Do you deny that camping out will give a man rheu 
matism ?" 
" — the glories of mountain and lake and river '"— 



BENSON DISCOURSES OF TIIE WOODS. 13 

'" Stop! stop! nw dear fellow, I suppose you mean by all 
this to tell me I'll eiijo)' the trip, and so I d«>ul>tl<-^s ^Imll if 
I go, and if I should survive all ilshardshi})-. 

"I mean to say," said Benson, earnestly, ''that to a man 
whose life is chiefly within four l)rick walls, and whose 
every breath takes up some part of the street and its tilth, 
whose daily work is such that his body and health are a 
daily sacritice to the necessities of sedentary life, — to such a 
man there is nothing in the whole range of remedial agents 
to make him so sound and strong and well and in so short a 
time, like the two or three weeks he can spare for a trii> in 
llie \voods. And I want you to go with me! I've set my 
heart on it. There's a good party of us and I'll take care that 
the hardsliips shan't InuM you. You'll have to tight your 
own mosquitoes. ;aul bear the pi'tly annoyances of camp 
life; ]>ul as for a man's dying in the woods of dyspepsia or 
biliousness for want of a drug .store or a doctor," — and he 
threw his head l)ack Avith an explosion of laughter — "that's 
the ver}' latest objection to the woods I ever heard! " 

I felt that I was answered, and uttered not a word in 
reply, except to .say. '• Well, so be it. — I'll go! '' 

Thus it came to pass that I, .somewhat below theavL-rage 
in health and strength at the time, and really needing the 
remedy my friend proposed, without any f(»rethought or 
planning of my own. was booked for nu' lir.st excursion to 
the Xorthern Wilderness of New York. When a boy. :i 
fowling piece and a I'od were my ciiief delight, and my 
c-hoieest recreations were in llic " wood lots" and along the 
streams of mv father's and adjoining farms; and a gun 



■j^4 jock's lake. 

in 'my closet at college hadi. given me many a Saturday 
ramble over the hills. But I had almost forgotten all the 
experiences of my boyhood in that regard, and had wholly 
lost the enthusiasm of those sports, while I was entirely 
ignorant of the special delights of forest camp life. I 
therefore anticipated my vacation trip to the woods and 
the hunting and fishing with no special pleasure, content 
that it should give me fresh air and vigor. 

Many an evening during the interval between the con- 
versation already detailed and the anticipated day of our 
departure for the woods, Benson regaled me, in his bach- 
elor quarters, with tales of his adventures on former excur- 
sions, and instructed me in forest lore and wood-craft, as, 
with boyish delight, he drew forth his stores of fishing 
tackle, his gun and amunition, woodsman's attire and the 
manifold "little conveniences " an old camper accumulates. 
His tenderest touch and tones were when he opened his 
magical fly-book, and fondled the flies that he loved. 
They were his pets and had been his companions, by many 
a lake and stream, and associated in his mind with the 
pleasantest days of his life. Even a half emptied bottle of 
"tar-oil "evoked an expression of his delight, as he un- 
corked it and insisted that I should snuff its odors. " You 
don't like it?" said he in response to my shudder of 
disgust,-" but you'll see the day when its smell will be 
sweeter than roses." "l did not quite comprehend the 
remark or the facts it rested upon for its significance. 

I had but little care or labor for my own preparation, 
fishing tackle et cetera being thrust upon me by the old 



TIIE START. — ON TITE WAY. — tlTTCA. 15 

woodsman, who. like all entliusiast.s of his kind, wasalrcad}^ 
over-supplied, and who bought every new thing useful, 
useless and ornamental tliat caught his fancy in the stores 
where fishermen are furnished. An old, worn-out woolen 
suit, designed in my benevolent moods for some poor but 
honest man of my dimensions, and a pair of strong boots, 
with tlie avails of a moderate check, were all I was obliged 
to think about for myself. 

It was somewliere among the midnight hours of July 
19th that Benson gave the orders,— •* All ready! Shoulder 
pack! Forward, March! " There was nothing to be gained 
by demurring or pleading that the human spinal column 
was not adapted to the ponderous load I was directed to 
take up. So, wriggling into the straps of the pack-basket 
as best I could, in imitation of the ludicrous contortions 
of my captain, and seizing a handful of njds and various 
articles that refused to be packed, I followed him down the 
stairwa3's of our boarding liou.se; and we bravely wended 
our way through the silent streets to the ne;u--at-hand rail - 
road depot. Night watchmen looked warily and suspi- 
ciously at us, bvit the fish rod is ever a i>assport7— except on 
forbidden streams — and the tramp had not yet developed 
into a recognized constituent of the advanced civilized 
community. We escaped arrest and the confiscation of 
our luggage, and were soon on board our train and hurry- 
ing through the darkness to the Utica that refuses to be 
" ])ent up." 

Arriving at that point, we hastened to bed for t lie frac- 
tional night remaining, leaving orders with the slee])y 



16 jock's LAICE. 

and taciturn hotel clerk to be aroused at all liazzards at the 
first indications of morning. The other memhers of our 
party had already arrived and were snugly ensconced for 
the night. 

It is surprising how early a July morning can dawn. 
The edge of the night crumbles away so noiselessly and 
permits" the first gray streaks to steal in so gently and 
unawares, that he whose custom is to hurriedly rise and 
prepare for an eight o'clock breakfast, is fain to believe 
that the break of day comes with the opening of his eye- 
lids. But if good fortune or necessity compels him to 
witness for himself the phenomenon of an emerging day, 
he learns to his dismay that a very long and beautiful part 
of that day has been accustomed to diffuse its glories over 
the earth long before he has shaken off the thraldom of 
death-like sleep. 

On this particular morning the sleepy clerk passed the 
word to a faithful porter who battered our doors until we 
were thoroughly aroused, although in our room it was yet 
quite dark. 

"Here! Now, what are you doing?" shouted Benson, 
as I sleepily and clumsily essayed to p\it on the clothing I 
had laid off on retiring. "That won't do,— out with the 
old clothes! We dress here for the woods, and white 
shirts and the toggery of the town go into a l)ag and 
stay here until we are back to the city again." I protested 
that we were yet among civilized people, and I should be 
greatly annoyed to be seen on the streets with the shabby 
attire I had deemed good enough for the woods. 



OLD CLOTHES. — WHO WE AVERE. 17 

"Be kind euoiigli to look at your watch, my honest. 
civili/X'd frk'nd, and then make a note of it that in an liour 
we shall be out of this place for good;" and as he spoke, 
Benson tumbled his bundle of old ch)thes and l)oots out 
upon the tlcxn- and began his hunt for the gray wooUmi 
shirt he had brought for me. Looking at my watch I 
found it was not (piite lialf-past four o'clock, and even 
two hours later I knew no stray acciuaintance of mine 
would l>c Ukely to stroll down the street. 

1 had ft)rgotteu how disheartening an abandoned 
suit of old, worn out, dusty, creased and shrunken clothes 
can be, until I surveyed myself and saw how wholly 
unpresentable I had become. M}'' personality seemed 
changed. I was not entirely certain that I was honest. I 
I didn't know but the next moment I should break out in 
profanity. As for the serene self-respect of an American 
citizen who had helped elect a member of Congress, I had 
next to none of it; for did I not bear all semblance to a 
moderately abased beggar? and did not my very appear- 
ance consign me to social ot)livi()n r and would any 
respe(;taJ)le church in the land permit me to sit in its pews? 

However, it was early in the morning, I was in tiie 
privacy which the early riser in the city enjoys, and I Avas 
wholly reassured by the nondescript appearance of the rest 
of the party to whom I was speedily presented. Besides, 
as a ps3'chological fact, I observed that my individuality 
gradually reasserted itself, and in an liour 1 was (piite as 
honest, as careful of my morals, and just as nuicli a 
gentleman, despite appearances, as if 1 had worn linen and 



Ig jock's lake. 

broadcloth and had not heen surmounted by a shockmg 

bad felt hat that sloped every way like a wigwam. . 

Calling the roll, there was Ed. Benson, an old woods- 
man, and myself, a, neophyte, from the same city; 
Loomis, the Professor, from a neighboring academy, a 
histy man of learning, a very Kit North for tish and 
frolic; Johnson, a hardware merchant from Washington, 
a good smoker and story-teller, who had won ren.)wn and 
ducats, sailing the seas, and now sought the forest for the 
first time ; and Thompson, our chief, of the Treasury Depart- 
ment at Washington, a bachelor who loved the woods 
better than most men love their children. Horace, one of 
oui' guides, was already in the office of the hotel, a little 
wiry fellow, silent, shy and tatterdemalion, but destined to 
blossom and unfold as we approached the familiar woods 
and streams, and to prove himself indeed "guide, philoso- 
pher and friend. " 

Two strong wagons were speedily loaded with ourselves 
and luggage,"and we drove ofP in the gray morning in high 
glee over the hills Northward. If tlie " Sage of Deerfiehl,'- 
in uneasy morning slumbers, fancied he heard " the rebel 
yell," so soon after destined to play the dickens with many 
a Joldier lad's dreams of home, doubtless it was the 
matutinal patriotism breaking out in song and shout of 
tliose wagon loads of early travellers in old clothes, as yet 
unfed and therefore unmindful of tlie strict code of decor- 
ousness and gentlemanly quietude. But he would have 
forgiven us,-for he too is a loyal lover of the woods and 
streams. 



BREAKFAST. — PIPES. — COFFEE POTS. — AKT. 10 

A few miles out of town, at the foot of a Iiill anioiio; tiie 
trees, in a wild sequestered spot we stopped at a little 
rustic inu, and breakfasted. The ham and eggs and piles 
of white bread and bowls of ereamj'-hued coffee disappeared 
amid the crackle of wit and boisterous laughter and 
jest, like prairie grass before the leaping flame. There was 
immense faith, not misplaced, that gentlemaiil}' and civil- 
ized dyspepsia had been slain and left l)ehin(l and that its 
avenging ghost had lost oiu- trail. The fun had actually 
begun, and not tlie least element of it was the reckless and 
childlike way in whi(;h we ate and drank what and when 
and as much as the appetite moved and the oppoi-tvmit}" 
(not always complaisant) ixTmittcd. 

Lighting pipes and cigars, each according to his fancy, 
we resinned our journey over sandy I'oads, up lull and 
down, next stopping at Prospect, a town on the Utica and 
Black River Rail-Road. The wise, care-taking men of our 
partj^ went about making purchases, of which a frying- 
pan and coffee-pot were not the least important. Indeed, 
on these two fundamental facts of camp life liang all the 
joy or sorrow of the culinar}' (lc|)artm(mt of tent and 
cal)in. A dozen big, blood thirsty hunting knives with 
spick-and-span new leather belts, the latest imi)rovements 
in air pillows, the most complicated cork-screw-lanc-et nut- 
pick-gimlel-and-cai"pcnter sho|) jack knife, in the possession 
of a party, nay, even a inirror and ra/.oi\ will not bring 
happiness to that luckless camp whei-e the frying-pan is 
not, or where the snub-nosed, l)lackened colfee-pot sings 
not its morning, noon and evening hymn of comfort and 
cheer. 



OO .TOCK's TiAKP:. 

Straying- into the one liiunhle hotel of the t<nvn I ex- 
plored its domain. In the bar-room ^vere pictures on the 
^Vidl— faithful representations of l)attles of the Revolution, 
the Rebellion and the next war,— masses of men stabbino- 
and "jabbinii-" each oilier with l)ayonets, falling over from 
tlie unpietured fire of invisible guns, and posing iu death 
as naturally as if they received on the spot the services of 
the most accomplished undertaker with ice-chest, embalm 
ing process and chaplets of victory kept in stock for battle 
subjects. There were also horse pictures— racehorses, 
with legs thrust forth before and behind at angles suggest- 
ing the circus gymnast, leaving the brave steed suspended 
in mid air like Mahomet's coffin, but performing, by sug- 
gestion, prodigies of motion which made one ache to 
wager something on the result of the race,— until the 
wonder grew, the longer one stared, that they didn't all 
disappear from the picture, amid the hurrahs of the win- 
ners of the contest. 

The parlor (for so the tin sign on the door declared it to 
be) contained a melodeou. I sat down to it, tenderly 
touched the keys and gently pressed the pedals. It was a 
consumptive, asthmatic affair, and its vocal chords were iu 
a state of chronic inflammation or else of partial paralysis. 
It responded, however, in no far-gone invalid tones, and, 
reassiu-ed, I proceeded to question the possibilities of the 
thing— extorting patriotic sounds more terrible than an 
army with breech-loaders, light-fantastic-toe sounds which 
would have made "the Devil on two sticks" dance, 
(whether Avith dismay, or with delight that a new tempta- 



:Mr?ic. — OHIO. — wrLKTx >* .n >. :. 1 

tion had l^een gifen to man. how can I say'?) sounds that 
refused to be classified, (such were the possibilities of the 
instrument, to say naught of the player.)— all to the great 
delectation of several village lads and one of our tlrivers 
who asserted that ''he could sit all day and listen to that 
music' -—a statement I should have implicitly l»flievetl had 
he added— if my pay grn^s on all the Siime." Loomis 
also, dear kind soul: who had listened through a crack 
of the door, thereafter seemed to regard me as untit for 
treason, stratagems and spoils, and had a tender, warm 
place for me in hi- heart. 

^- AU aboard: ■ shoufed the chief, and we were speedily on 
our way. TVe drove on to Ohio— a mere bit of a town 
made up principally of its ambitious name and a post office, 
the last we were to see for a fortnight. The horses were 
fed. while we waited an imconscionably long time for 
•George.- our other guide, who had to be sent for in the 
neighborhood. Our attention was engaged by a very novel 
cemetery with unique epitaphs.— a little country church 
which we respectfully" explored.— diagnosing the meteoro- 
logical conditions from certain ominous clouds assembling 
for a carnival in the west.— letter writing at the one little 
country store.— sleeping on the "stoop" amid difficulties 
contrived and executed by the wakeful members of the 
party.— various feats of strength and agility.— and several 
quarts of milk which we drank and called dinner. 

George having appeared, we proceeded on our way to 
Wilkinson's, well in the woods, the "last house " of civil- 
ization, thirty-six miles from Utica. arriving at 7 o'clock. 



9^ jock's T-ATCK. 

twelve Hours after breakfast. Here we stopped for the 
nicht and to be^u our serious work. The Utile Unv. frame- 
ho'use, a sort of exaggerated bird's nest, browned by age 
and weather, looked picturesque at that hour. It was 
situated on a gentle bluil' in the midst of a small elcarmg 
hewn out of the forest right on the banks of West Canada 
Creek which there assumes (piite the proportions of a river. 
The tawnv-brown water courses dcwn through the gorge 
of the m.nmtains on either side, phmging, roaring and 
foamino- amon- the large boulders which line its banks and 
are .caUered thickly along the bed of the stream, and passes 
off to the south-east on its way to the Mohawk. Unbroken 
forests crown the rocky hearted mountains and press down 
to the water's edge. Tlie darkening, evening-hued sky 
mincded with the forest green, and the rushing waters 
sounded their evening anthem amid the stillness of the 
secluded place. 

But what, in the midst of this grandeur and beauty, at 
this poetical hour, meant that smoke on the grassy plot in 
front of the house, where the eight or ten Wilkinsons, great 
and small, from the aged grandfather down to the dirty, 
toddling baby, were assembled^ I ventured to ask Benson 
a. mucli. -'That? why, that's a smadg<^-\he greatest 
mstitution of the woods!" And he gave me a pitying 
look for my ignorance, and laughed much more heartily 
than I thought the subject demanded. 

We gladly leaped to the ground from the seats which we 
had f dthf uUy held down for thirty-six miles, over the last 
nine of which the road was hilly and rocky. The warm. 



THE SMUDGE. — PU>-KY: 23 

murky air environed ils, languor subdued us, and we were 
content to throw ourselves down ujxjn the grass. Forth- 
with a haz}' cloud gathered around my head, I e-\i>erienced 
burning .sensations on my hands, wrlst.s, face and neck. 
My ears seemed aflame. Was I sick? Had "prickly 
heat " attacked me? Did I need a doctor? I endeavore^l 
to scjlve the mystery of the haze. I looked earne.-^tlyat my 
hands, and discovered winged atoms of noLseless flight, 
countless in numlKT'^; — dull sparks with wings, that settled 
quietly down upon me by the hundred and then hnnud. 
I had not ]>een told of the phenomenon, and it was a reve- 
lation. Burn! burn! burn! How they burned! I was 
almo.^^t frantic. I appealed to Ben.s<jn again; "What is 
this. — this — these confounded things that I can't see but 
which liite so horribly r" 

" Punky ! my boy, — the no-see em.s — the 'cutest little 
wretches in their line that this country' up here produces. 
They dont sound any horn when they go to business. Oh, 
you'll get used to 'em. They're not bad. Tar-oil will fix 
em all right. And there's where the bemity of the.'^mudge 
comes in." 

" But I can't endure it. " said I. slapping my face, ruljliing 
my ears and hopping uIkjuI in a transjwrt of nervous 
inita])ility. 

"Well, you just ni>h into that smudge, and the punkies 
will leave you fast enough." 

So I rushed. The tierce little gnats left me. The low 
smouldering lire in the kettle s(^>nt up chnuls of half fragrant 
and pungent smoke, which seemed for an instant as lu.\u- 



24 jock's lake. 

rious as the first l)almy breath of spring. But the next 
moment I was nearly suffocated and strangling. I rushed 
out. The punkies returned in stinging clouds, searching 
every nook and crevice and seam in my clothing and 
swarming about my head. Back to the snuidge I went - 
then out -then in, -the horrors alternating. At length, 
utterly overcome in the contest, I murmured to my friend, 
as he slapped and rubbed himself and shared the smudge 
with me, "Benson, I've come a great ways to be very 
miserable! Must a man up here murder himself to save 

his life?" 

■ The humor had pretty nearly gone out of him, but he 
showed his white teeth in an effort at a laugh, and replied, 
-There's one hope left,-tar-oil! Let's go for it." And away 
he went to the pile of luggage nearby and hunted up a big 
black bottle. From this he poured out into his hand a 
brownish, greasy liquid and rubbed it vigorously over his 
face and hands, on his neck and well up into the roots of 
his hair, doing which he gave forth odors which in town 
would have l)roughtdown upon him the censures of the 
board of health as a nuisance. 

"Try it! " said he. 

"Can't,— it smells so infernally. " 

- Y(m-ll like it, when you get used lo it. Children cry 

Cor it, up here. " 

The stings were driving me mad. I seized the big bottle, 
and followed his example. Two sighs escaped me,-one at 
the sickening smell,-one of great relief as the cloud of 
winged sparks fell back from me in disgust, and I stood 



A CHEEEFUL "OOOD NTOHT. " 25 

once more a free man, but as greasy and hnnvnas an Italian 
bego-ar. The battle was ended. I learned afterwards to 
tolerate tar oil, then to like its odor, and noAV 1 ahvayskee)) 
a bottle of it among my tishing traps at home, nneorkiiii;- il 
now and tlien, when the snows are heavy on the earth, to 
remind me of tlie summer (•ami)-fire in the wilderness! 
There is no disputing eihieated tastes! 

Seven of us slej)! that night in the h.l't, in lealher beds, 
the rain pouring doMn upon the root Jusi above our heads. 
Wilkinson, as he took the household candle down stairs, 
bestowed his cheerful good-night,— " Boys, if the punkies 
get very bad, ' fore morning, call me and I '11 bring up a 
smudge! " But we slept. 



, CHAPTER II. 

The rain came down in torrents all night, to the very hest 
of it. miasnmmer ability under the specially 1-avoring influ- 
ences of a forest and mountain region. Boisterous West 
Canada Creek was swollen to a mad river. We sat and 
conversed under the wood shed, all the forenoon; and whde 
the rain still poured we smoked our pipes, told fishing and 
hunting stories, whittled, and took our turns around the 

smudge kettle. 

At noon the rain dwindled to a drizzle, and I, the neophyte 
of the party, horn and reared in a land of minnows, hull- 
heads dace and. suckers, went up a little stream nearby, 
•uKl with an extemporized rod and baited hook caught m> 
first brook-trout! It flashed upon my recollection, (or might 
appropriately have done so) at the instant of my hvst 
''strike " that there were several quick things,-lightnmg. 
for instance,-the kick of an ugly cow at a milk pad,-the 
descending blow of a school-teacher's ferule upon the 
iuvenile palm,-the young skater's first somersault, -the 
bashful boy's blush when the pretty girl of the school 
smiles on him, and all that sort of thing,-but this trout 
was a little ahead of them all. In an instant I had him fast 
upon the barbed hook. The little spirit of activity at the 
end of the line fairly efl'ervesced ; the small pool boiled like a 
teapot, for there was a tempest in it of one frightened, crazy 



MY FIR8T TROtTT! RAIN AND ROADS. 27 

trout. Three times came the flash, the thrill and the exult- 
ation, and three little trout I proudly bore to my companions 
under the wood-shed; and lightly did I heed the laughter 
and derisive comments which my tingerlings excited,— for, 
in the flush of my new experience I was in a state to see 
visions and dream dreams. In many an experience since 
that hour, by f(M-est stream and pool. I have seen the full 
vision and realized the dream, then infantile and wingless, 
but never again did the felicity quite repeat itself of catch- 
ing myfr.ot trout. 

We had designed.— that is, the C^aptain had designed for 
us,— to go up West Canada Creek lo 'VStillwater," fifteen 
or twenty miles further, the entire distance to be travelled 
on foot with packs on our backs, through a trackless forest. 
The heavy rain had made the travelling exceedingly diffi- 
cult, and raised and roiled the water sufiiciently to destroy 
all hope of taking fish in the streams for days to come. The 
council of war around the snuidge decided to change the 
plan of the campaign, and advance, with Wilkinson's 
baggage and supply ti-ain of one wagon, to Jock's Lake 
( Transparent Lake, on the maps ), nine and a quarter miles 
distant and northerly. 

A town road had been cut out, years before, under the delu- 
sion that at some time or other this region would be occupied 
l)y settlers and the forest tamed. But natiu-e never designed 
the mountains and rocks and scanty soil for farms. She bolted 
and barred and locked up these sacred precincts against the 
plow and reaper,— and threw away the key. The forest of 
the Adirondacks blesses its worshipers who come with 



og jock's lake. . 

reverent love to its wooded shrines and placid lakes and 
chano-eful streams, alid sends them forth again rich m the 
goodVftsit holds in store 'for the forest-loving in heart. 
But a Wastino' curse has rested upon every profane attempt 
to hew down the temples and erect in their stead the 
granary The law-not of New York but of N ature-has 
set apart this wilderness irrevocably to purposes which find 
little recognition in the marts of trade and the necessities of 
a teeming population struggling for subsistence. 

So that this road had, by disuse, pretty much grown over 
again, and was now little better, they told us, than -acorn- 
fortable squirrel track." We found afterwards that the 
squirrel who had travelled that track must have possessed 
a very sound constitution. 

Afte'r a dinner of bread and milk we set forth,-we five and 
our two guides walking in light-weight costume, and 
Wilkinson bringing up the rear with his wagon and two cat- 
like horses. They had nobly spent their lives in trying to 
civilize this region and in doing so had learned to clamber 
over l)Oulders like a goat and to climb a sharp acclivity like 
a hod-carrier up a ladder. I didn't observe that they had 
claws, but how they otherwise could so well climb and 
descend and cling, I could not well conceive. The unedu- 
cated horse would have been utterly helpless in their place. 
-Is n't this glorious, boys!" said Thompson, as we left 
the little clearing and, after walking a little way up the 
river bank along a cow-path, plunged into the forest. 
-Glorious! " responded a chorus of four voices. 
-That very wet rain has at least cleared the air, and 



WALK AND TALK. 29 

made these woods smell as fresh and sweet as a l)aby," 
chimed in Johnson, Avhose thoughts doubtless took a back- 
ward leap, at the moment, to a certain home circle in 
Washington. 

"And as bright as a maiden's eye", sang out l)achielor 
Benson, with a broad grin. 

"Oh! oh! — Why can't you fellows just enjoy this thing 
in a good, old-fashioned way, without any such far-fetched 
comparisons, and cheap sentiment! — I saj^ fellows," — and 
Thompson's incipient wrath oozed aAvay perceptibly, — 
" I say, what tremendous great trees these are! The little 
chaps have a hard time of it down under these big maples 
and hemlocks and spruces." 

' ' That broad-spreading beech tree would have delighted 
Virgil himself, and these. I believe, are the veritable aisles 
of the dim woods, that Hemans sang," added the Professor. 

"The woods are dim enough, to be sure," broke in 
Thompson, "but they'll be dimmer before we get to camp 
if you fellows stop to stare at every big tree you see." 

So on we trudged with joke or shout or in silence, as the 
mood took us and the path permitted. Our way was a 
simple track through a dense wilderness, over mountains, 
down steep declivities, clambering over monstrous bould- 
ers, through slough-holes, and crossing swollen streams on 
fallen trees, — a bridge sometimes hard to find and always 
dithcult to cross. 

The few small l)irds that inhabit the wilderness fiitted 
about in the shades; a great gray owl right over our heads, 
disturl.)ed in his dreams,' lifted himself from his lofty 



30 jock's lake. 

percli and winged his silent Avay into recesses of the forest 
where human foot never trod; the nervous little chipmunk 
watched the singular invaders of his domain, chippered, 
and plunged into his hole; a partridge or two whirred and 
darted olf out of sight, almost too swift for the vision to 
follow; and an occasional rahl)it hopped nimbly out of the 
path and disappeared in the bushes. 

This was about all the life of the woods that was revealed 
to our eyes. But there were tracks in the soft earth l)y the 
streams where the timid deer had stealthily crept and fed; 
scratchings on tree-trunks Avhere bruin had stood up and, 
cat-like, dug his claws into the wood and stretched himself ; 
and we knew that the helmeted sentinels around us, if they 
could but speak our language, would tell us of the lithe 
panther, the prowling and sneaking wolf, and of tragedies 
among hungry beasts quite as entertaining as histories of 
man's inhumanity to man. 

Wilkinson was compelled to chop out several trees that 
had fallen across the path, which delayed him somewhat, 
but the delay was not ungrateful to us. Indeed, as often 
as the interesting proceeding had to be repeated, we 
sat down on a convenient and adjacent log with great 
patience, and superintended the work as wisely as if we 
were born Avood-chdppers. Nobody complained of fatigue. • 
If one fell behind, he was examining the geological speci- 
mens which the rocks afforded. If he sat down, without 
a general order to halt, his shoe needed tieing. If one stag- 
gered and stumbled, it was only " a confounded root " ; pale 
or Hushed,— he was "a little thirsty, you see." No body 



THINGS SEEN AND UNSEEN. — OUR CABIN, 31 

was tired, although we trudged and climbed and plunged 
and floundered and trudged again, — on a bread and milk 
dinner — for five hours, when at last a gleam of water 
appeared through the trees, and behold, Jock's Lake ! 

How often since have I caught that silver gleam of water 
through the trees, when tramping through the forest ! At 
first there is a little light through the density of the foliage, 
and on a nearer approach, the glimmer of water; — no shores 
appearing, — just simplj^ beautiful, clear water shining 
through the green leaves and the branches. If the sun is 
bright, the effect is as delightful as au}^ thiug seen in the 
woods. 

AVe emerged from the forest into an opening sloping- 
down to the shore, of perhaps a half acre in extent, where 
the trees had all been cut away, years before, and tlie 
native grass had obtained root-hold and made a very prettj^ 
welcome as we threw ourselves down upon the turf bed, 
thoroughly tired. 

A small bark-roofed log hut, built for parties like our 
own, stood in the center of the clearing, well awaj^ from 
an}^ large trees that in a high wind might take a fancy to 
fall in our direction. Its dimensions were very modest, 
the entire structure being but about fourteen feet long and 
ten or eleven wide, and only high enough near the sides for 
a tall man to stand upi'ight. One end was devoted to the 
purposes of a bed room, its limits being designated b}^ a 
small log running across the cabin, a man's length from the 
end opposite the door; while the remainder was kitchen, 
store-room, dining-room and parlor. The bed (soon con- 



32 jock's lake, 

structed) was in tlie true, primitive style of a camper's 
couch, — hemlock boughs on the ground, "shingled" so 
that the butts of tlie boughs were covered by the feathery 
leaves. These, laid properly and to the depth of four or 
five inches, constituted a bed which onl}' needed its cover 
ing of blankets or rubber cloth to be comi)lete, alwaj^s 
"ready made" and quite as welcome after a long day's 
tramp as the luxurious couch of easy days wiien sleep 
comes reluctantly and only lightly touches the ej'elids. 

"Well, gentlemen." said Thompson, as he drew himself 
up from a recumbent to a sitting posture, after a brief rest, 
"I beg leave to suggest to you the eminent propriety of 
beginning life here on the old-fashioned plan." 

' ' What's that?" struck up three or four voices, with varied 
degrees of vigor, as the indolent fellows, flat on their backs, 
kicked their heels into the turf. 

"Let's have the plan, Thompson, — no matter what's the 
fashion," said Benson, as he lazily rolled over towards the 
first speaker. 

"The plan ! the plan! Give us the plan!" came out in 
chorus. 

"Why, eating, of course! — I suppose there isn't anything 
much more old-fashioned than that, except breathing, and 
that couldn't have had much the start. As for me, I've 
got my breath all right again, after that rather long walk; 
and, following the logical order and the natural inclination, 
after all this exercise, I propose next to eat. — I say, Wilkin- 
son, where are your boats? Some of these crazy fishermen 
who have been talking trout all the way from Utica, want 



BOATS AND NETGnEOES. 38 

to now just get out tlieir tackle and try their hands at 
catching a supper for this party, — and a good one, too;" 
and by this time Thompson had lifted himself heavily to 
his feet. ''I'm not selfish, — these chaps may have the fun 
of taking the first trout." 

Wilkinson, like a merciful man, had seen to it, first of 
all, that his beasts were imharnessed and hitched to the 
liind wheels of his wagon and fed in the wagon box with a 
bundle of ha}" and a suppl}^ of oats lirought with him from 
his burn: and he now approached. 

" Them boats, boj^s, are hid up in the woods. You ain't 
never sure of finding a handj' thing like a boat, up here, 
when you want it, if you don't put it out of sight. Folks 
don't exactl}" mean to steal, but they'll use 'em and don't 
alwaj^s leave 'em just where the}" got 'em. Mj neighbors " — 

"Neighbors! — where on earth do your neighbors come 
from,- Wilkinson V '" 

"Why, they're all around — that is, — I mean they're all 
one side of me, that's a fact! — and the nighest of 'em is well 
on to seven miles from me; — and he ain't much of a neigh- 
bor, to be sure, for he lives all alone, and he's one of your 
darn mean, half-squatter, half-trapper and whole-lazy fel- 
lows that ain't one thing nor another. Then beyend him, 
three miles further on, there's some more, and they're likely 
folks, too, — got families and work for a livin'. I tell )"ou a 
man's got to work some for a livin' and help somebody else 
to live, — a wife and a chick or two, ma3"-be half a dozen of 
'em, of his own, — to be a first-class neighbor, up here. 
And my impression is — it majn't be worth much — that a 



34 jock's lake. 

man that don't work any and don't try to make livin' a 
little easier for somebody else, runs a mighty big chance of 
not makin' much of a neighbor of himself anywhere." 

"But I don't see, Mr. Wilkinson," interrupted the Pro- 
fessor, who seemed amusedly interested in the disquisition 
of the backwoodsman,— "I don't quite see that you have 
fairly established your original proposition that .you have 
neighbors, when the nearest person is "seven miles away and 
no neighbor at all in any proper sense of the term." 

'• Oh, very well," replied he, doubtless stumbled by the 
assumed gravity of the Professor. "You mean by neigh- 
bor the man in the next yard, I suppose, that knows what 
you had for breakfast in the moruin', and who you brought 
home to dinner with you, and hears your wife when she 
spanks the baby, and — " 

"Never mind him," said Benson, "he's a pedagogue, 
and takes everything like the multiplication table. He 
don't realize how the imagination of a genuine backwoods- 
nian sweeps around for twenty miles and takes in all the 
people of a circuit as his neighbors. " 

"But the boats, Wilkinson, where are they hid? I'm as 
empty as a last year's chippiug-bird's nest, and I must have 
some supper! "—and Thompson emphasized his remark by 
patting his stomach, in a patronizing way, with his open 
palms. 

" You can't find 'em— they're over beyend the spring, up 
the hill a little ways, behind a log and covered up with 
leaves. I'll go and show you, and help you get 'em down 



A BUSY CAMP. 35 

to the lake; " and as he led the way two or three of us fol- 
lowed. 

The boats were drawn from their hiding place down to 
the water and launched, and found to be in good condition 
and reasonably tight after their rest in the woods. Benson 
and the Professor, the ardent fishermen of our company, 
already equipped, stepped aboard, shoved from shore, and 
proceeded to a point indicated by Wilkinson as likely to 
respond to their skill. 

iMeanwhile, our camp was assuming a busy appearance. 
The luggage had been unladen from the wagon; an open 
tire, out of doors, had been built for cooking purposes; and 
the smouldering fire of chips and leaves, making the inevi- 
table smudge, had been duly inaugurated — destined to be 
our pillar of cloud by day and of tire by night. Horace, 
the silent, had found a modest and civil tongue, and with 
nimble fingers was dissecting the baggage and j^reparing for 
our snnple forest housekeeping, bestowing the supplies in 
the cabin, and shaking out the blankets, and in fact, doing 
almost everything, while at the same time watching the 
colfee pot hung over the fire. George, the liig, strong, 
noisy, good-natured fellow, could swing an oar like a walk- 
ing beam all day, and compel the proudest forest king to 
cast his crown to the ciU'th after a few moments of his vig- 
orous assaults with the axe; but about camp he was pretty 
nearly good for nothing. 

Horace, on this occasion, sent him into the nearest timber 
to chop wood for 'the night, and this he did so faithfully, 



36 jock's lake. 

that in a short time he had a large pile of heavy sticks 

ready for the all-night tire. 

" Here we are— and here's supper tit for a king!" sang 
out Benson, as that worthy approached, holding up a 
string of trout. The ponderous Professor, following hard 
after, added— "and, gentlemen, if there's to be a division of 
labor in this camp, please allot to me the task of providing 
brain food for this company, as found embodied in the 
speckled trout of Jock's Lake." 

It was almost no time before the trout, with a little fat 
pork, were in the frying pan; and Horace watched them 
as they hissed and sizzled and curled, and turned them at 
the opportune moment, and at length pronounced them 
done. 

" And I must confess, well done, thou good and faithful 
cookl" said Thompson, who seized a little trout by the 
tail and swung it deftly to his mouth and closed his teeth 
upon the delicious morsel. 

"I enter a protest," exclaimed the lawyer of the party. 
" against any unequal distribution of the assets of tbis firm ; 
—share and share alike is a part of the original contract 
1 )etween us. Besides, a clerk in the United States Treasury 
ought to have learned to treat the public property that 
comes within his reach a little more sacredly." 

'Tf you were on ship-board, Thomp.," said the sailor- 
merchant, "you'd be rolled on a barrel for that trick." 

"It strikes me, gentlemen," retorted Thompson, "that 
by your common consent I am your Captain. Therefore, 
I make the laws. I here and now"— and he munched his 



SUPPEl?.— A SNUG PIT. 87 

trout with a liunoiy man's vigor— "ordain and establish— 
is that good law phrase, Mr. Indignant Lawyer?— that 
while we are in camp, and there's plenty to eat, every man 
shall eat when he's hungry and drink when he's dry, and 
to his fullest capacity— so far as is consistent with the 
safety of his l)uttons, which every man must sew on for 
himself." 

"Agreed! agreed!" on all hands; and the speck of war 
vanished as Horace announced supper ready at the rude 
tahle in and along one side of the hut. 

In due time tlie hearty meal was finished, and twilight 
deepened into darkness. We gathered before the fire, or 
clung affectionately around the smudge, lighted our pipes, 
and chatted and told stories until the early bed-time hour. 

Then eight tired men laid themselves down, side by side, 
across one end of the single apartment, upon the bed of 
fragrant boughs. 

"It's a snug fit, boys!" said the bulky Pi-ofessor, ''and if 
dignity is to have any privileges, in this party, I should like 
an inch or two more room." 

" We're all on a common level, here, "responded the Cap- 
tain, "—just now, at any rate; but if you talk of privileges, 
I'm the official personage that wants 'em." 

"I say, Benson," whispered the Neophyte, "how the 
dickens do you fix your boots to make a comfortable pil- 
low? Aline don't fit my head; the heel of one of them seems 
to be sticking into my bump of philoprogenitiveness." 

"Well, you are a new camper, I should say!" said 
Benson, as he examined the rude head rest; "you've got 



33 jock's lake. • 

the coat in the wfong place— under your boots, instead of 
on top. There, now! " as he folded the coat and arranged 
it, "your hoots are meant for foundation and your coat for 
superstructure. To-morrow I'll get out the flour sacks, 
down in the depths of my pack basket, somewhere, and fix 
you up the jolliest pillow you ever slept on, -hemlock and 
spruce twigs,-that'll make you dream of Araby^and spicy 
breezes, and all that." 

'•Horace!" shouted the captain, "now shy your hat at 
the candle over there on the cracker 1)0X, and put out the 
light! It's high time this party was asleep. The sun gets 
up here about as soon as the early bird that has always 
been held up to me as an example." 

"All right! Shy aw^ay, Horace! I'm fixed"— "and I" 
—"and I"— "and I." 

The old hat performed its mission, and eight men all 
facing one way, closed their eyes and importuned balmy 
sleep. • 

Instead, came the soft sing-sing of the hominivorous mos- 
q^iito— with sense so keen that in the midnight-hour of the 
darkest night he goes straight to the best feeding ground 
on the nose of his victim;— as a honey laden bee flies 
homeward to his. nest in the hollow tree;— as the bolt from 
a Remington or Sharp's rifle cleaves the air for a thousand 
yards and strikes the bulls-eye;— as a creditor unerringly 
follows, with his little bill, the young man of vain hope 
who neatly turns a corner, dodges into a clul)-room, 
hurries to catch a street car, and when caught at last wipes 
dust from his eyes as if a great and recent family bereave- 



"the smudge! the smfdge!" 39 

meut had overtakeu liim and weighed him down with grief 
which should not be disturbed by sordid cares — and duns. 

So came the mosquito, — the <imnt courier followed b}' a 
host like Xerxes's army— that is, perhaps — how could one 
tell, in the dark! The single note swelled to an orchestral 
performance. Slap! slap! 

"By Jingo!" 

''Ugh!" 

"Horace! George ! Up with^^ou! — 3'ou careless fellows," 
sang out the Captain; " you forgot the smudge! " 

' ' For Hea V en's sake ! the smudge !" groaned the Neophj^te. 
"The smudge! the smudge! or we die!" fairly yelled the 
Professor. 

Andeight men sat bolt upright in the darkness, thoroughly 
wakened by this terror of the night — the gentle-winged, 
sharp-tongued mosquito. 

At last, — the smudge aiding — our senses succumbed, and 
eight men slept. 



CHAPTER III. 

Morning always comos-to the gay reveller who has 
exhausted all the night in feasting, drink and song, and 
drunken laughter,-to the weary watcher hy sick l^eds,- 
to the fever-tossed, the sorrow -laden, the care-hurdened,— 
to the toilers and guardians of the night,-to the dwellers 
in palaces, pillowed on down.— and to men in a hut, sleep- 
ing on hushes, all in a row. It didn't skip us,-and eight 
men yawningly hailed the early dawn, and crawled, out of 

the cabin. 

The sun was just peering over the mountain across the 
lake, and flinging his silvery-golden l>eams down upon 
the sparkling waters. The forests in their morning fresh- 
ness wore a tenderer green. The sweet morning air was 
fragrant with balsam and spruce and mossy earth. The 
cross-bills flitted in startled and darting flight from our 
cabin roof, to the neighboring trees, and back again, utter- 
ing their quick, sharp notes, in search of the crumbs from 
our table. Nature's own morning hour, unvexed by the 
smoke and dust and busy rumble and roar of civilized 
life, had come to the wilderness. 

' ' How do you like it V" said Benson, after quietly watch- 
ing me a few moments as I gazed in evident, keen enjoy- 
ment of the scene. "'Beautiful' isn't any word for it,— 



MORNING IN THE FOREST. 41 

is it? There's a good deal more than that word conveys in 
such a morning- and such a scene as this. Oh, I remember"— 
and the eyes of my good friend, who usually concealed the 
really earnest and noble side of his nature under a veil of 
humor, were dreamy and his voice low and musical as he 
spoke, "—I remember the first summer morning I saw in 
tlie wilderness, a dozen years ago. It.came like a revelation 
of what— yes,— of what heaven might be, if it should be 
l^rought down to the earth." I suppose every man has a 
little poetry hid away in him, somewhere. That morning 
was the key that unlocked mine. The forest seemed a vast 
temple,-the worshipers all reverently silent; and the sun 
for the lirst time, as it slowly rose and seemed to gaze be- 
nignantly on lake and forest, became Father of the day 
and not its King. -Ah, my boy," after a moment's silence, 
"that seems a good while ago, though, and I've had some 
hard knocks in the world's rough and tumble since then,- 
but this sunrise sends me all the way back, over the years, 
to just such a scene as this and to just such a delight as 
you now experience in seeing a forest sun rise for the first 
time." 

"Well!" called out the Captain, who was^ already 
busy about camp, /^^.S6^^V^^, as Johnson styled -his work,— 
"Well! if it takes you fellows much longer to determine 
whether that's the break-o':lay or not, you won't very soon 
have break-o'fast!" at which desperate attempt at a joke 
nobody smiled but himself. "We've got to have some 
trout for breakfast, "continued he, "and I shall order out 
another detail, if Benson and the Professor don't proceed 
at once." 



42 jock's lake. ^ 

I accompanied tlie fishermen to the lake shore, towel in 
hand, to make my morning toilet. After speedily accom- 
plishing this, I half sat and half reclined on a rock, and 
watched them as they rowed out to the fishing-grounds, - 
their voices and the dipping of the oars gradually 
growing less and less distinct as the boat noiselessly glided 
away. Behind me, at the camp, busy preparations were 
being made, as I could see. . The smoke rose from the fire, 
thin and pale, in the bright sunlight; Horace was moving 
.hither and thither with spoon and dish and pail, while 
George was seated on a log humbly peeling potatoes —that 
being the least skilled labor of the forest kitchen; Thomp- 
son had a thousand little things to do, but at this moment 
was suspending a pocket mirror by a nail driven into a log 
of the cabin, out of doors; Johnson was examining and 
cleaning his rifle; Wilkinson was feeding and watering his 
horses and preparing for his return homeward after break- 
fast;— while the circling forest looked silently on. The 
whole scene was so new and strange to me that I forgot 
that I was a member of this body politic and had the 
duties of a citizen to perform with the rest. However, as 
I was the youngest, and the Neophyte at that, and was not 
counted as knowing the things "worth knowing" in the 
woods, my inactivity attracted no attention. It was my 
fortune, indeed, to be treated throughout the trip as a guest 
and admitted to all the good things and spared all but the 
ine V itable labors. Thanks to the dear old boys ! 

The fishermen soon returned with all the trout required 
for the morning meal, and shortly after we were seated 



CAMP SCENE. — A TROUT BREAKEAST. 43 

at our humble table on the long stout pole which was sup- 
ported by crotches. Even the Professor was not heavj^ 
enough to break that down, although he had a distracting 
way of smashing nearly every thing he sat upon. 

"Now, boys! I call this a model breakfast," said 
Thompson, after five minutes of steady eating that forbade 
speech; " — even if I did supervise its construction." 

" You don't mean to claim the credit of this, — do you, 
Thomp. ? " half indignantly queried Johnson. "Horace 
is the pilot that brought this breakfast safe to harbor, — 
you were nothing but a land-lubber passenger." 

"Gentlemen," said the Professor, "Horatius is the 
genius to whom we are indebted for this concatenation of 
delicious edibles. It was he who, by the wave of his 
spoon, evoked cosmos from chaos. — who " — after a mouth- 
ful, he went on — ' ' who transmuted things to be weighed and 
measured and put into bags and bundles and boxes by the 
grocer "—another mouthful — " into " — 

"You'd better beach your craft," broke in Johnson, 
' ' for I take it you've got into deep and troubled water and 
are overloaded with your ' concatenation ' and your 
'cosmos' and 'transmuted.' Horace can't stand it to 
have you abuse him in this way. I think, mj^self, there 
were never such trout as these, nor boiled potatoes whiter 
and mealier, nor flap-jacks so big and light, nor maple 
syrup richer, nor coffee that w^ent straighter to the spot, — 
but I don't quite like to have you llig in your ' cosmos ' and 
'chaos' here." 

"Oh, let him go on," said Benson; — "he's compara- 



44 jock's lake. 

tively harmless, so far. The last trip I made with him he 
was full of ' nectar ' and ' ambrosia ' and the ' feasts of 
the gods.' We're luckj' if we o-et off with 'cosmos' this 
time." 

But despite the talk and banter the eating went on, until 
the hearty breakfast was ended, and Horace ceased from 
his lal)ors at the frjing-pan, and George, the waijter, gladl}' 
heard fi'om one and another, " No more! " 

After breakfast Wilkinson returned home with his 
horses, but leaving his wagon until he should come for 
us; and as he disappeared in the forest, the Neophyte, 
experiencing for a moment a sensation of hojne-longing, 
thought: '' So the curtain drops between us and the outer 
world, to be raised some days hence, revealing — no one 
knows what!" He never felt preciscl}" that waj' again, 
but never failed, in similar circumstances, to feel for an 
instant a certain sense of loneliness and heli>lessness. 

Now began, in earnest, the real life that we had come to 
enjoy, — life in a primitive fashion, far from the cares and 
distractions as well as the luxuries of civilization, cut off 
from all men but our own chosen company; the life of the 
savage, with all the bad elements left out, .unconstrained 
but not lawless, jovial and free but self -respectful, natural 
but certainly not barbarous; a too short period of alternate 
work and rest, of sport in lishing, rowing, shooting, 
swimming and in doing a thousand little things, important 
on such occasions to be (Tone, but difficult to report, and 
perhaps of interest only to the actoi's themselves. 

"Wilkinson is a good enough fellow," said Benson, 



TKOUT-FrSIITNC4. 45 

"but I never feel quite as if I was in the woods, for good, 
and my camp life had actually begun, until I and my 
party are left alone. — Well, now boys! who's going a-lish- 
ingV Don't all speak at once, for it's one of the cardinal 
virtues, in the woods, not to catch any more trout than can 
be used. Lot's of sport and no waste." 

"Not I, to-day, "said Thompson; "this camp isn't quite in 
shipshape yet, and I propose to get it into lirst-rate living- 
order before I try the fishing. But, mind! when I do start 
in, you fellows might as well unjoint your rods, — 1 shall 
put you all to everlasting shame and confusion!" 

"Oh, the modesty of the man!" exclaimed the Profes- 
sor; Benson adding, aside, — ^"but he isn't so ver}^ wide of 
the mark, though. That's always his way in camp,— -fussing, 
and fussing, fixing up all the little coinn'niences, until 
everything is in apple-pie order, and then he starts into the 
fishing with a will." 

It resulted in our all going out upon the lake but Thomp 
son. At the proper point, our two boats were brought to 
anchor and we began fishing with bait, and very sucess- 
fidly. The trout averaged about half a pound, few of 
them weighing over three-fourths of a pound. Jufst as is 
always likely to happen in bait-fishing, I, the least experi- 
enced fisherman of the four, took the largest trout caught 
that day. I was happy enough, even with l)ait-iishitig, at 
the time, for I knew of nothing better; and, for the sake 
of that memory, 1 do not care to speak disparagingl}' 
of the humble angle-worm as a lure. But I must add that^ 

when afterwards I learned with moderate skill to wield the 
2 



46 .rOCK S TiAKE. 

fly-rod, and in a fair fight captured my first trout witli Iho 
fly, a little blush of shame mantled my cheek at the recol- 
lection that I was so happy on that first morning at Jock's 
Lake. I can imagine man}^ compensations that will come 
with old age, — if, indeed, it shall come, — for the losses of 
enjoyment that befall impaired physical faculties; Init what 
shall come in the place of camp and tramp in tlie Adiron- 
dacks, and the glorious joy of casting the fly over the pools 
and in the rapids of forest streams, and the leap and dash 
and play of the gamy and beautiful trout! — This, however, 
is not what I was thinkiug of, as I sat in the boat that 
morning and drew in trout after trout, as handsome and as 
gamy as any I have since seen. 

"Hi! Hi! tliat never will do," exclaimed Benson, as 
I was al)out to lift to m}' lips a cup of water dipped from the 
pure, spring-fed lake; "j^ou'll be sure to be sick if you 
drink that. Here, — pour a little of this 'enlivener' into 
it," bringing out from his pocket a flask of brandy. 

"I never drink, you know." 

"No matter — I don't drink, myself, except in the woods, 
—but you must take a drop here, or we'll have an incon- 
veniently sick man on our hands." 

The last argument was conclusive, and I poured some of 
the contents of his flask into the cup of water, and drank. 
AVe continued fishing, but I speedily lost interest in tlie 
sport. In fact, by the time we reached camp, again, I was 
pale and weak and sick. The delicate stomach I had 
brought with me into the woods had rebelled at the unac- 



LEMONADE AND "STICKS." 47 

customed stimulant, and gave me fair warning not to repeat 
the affront. 

And I venture to record, right here, that I have since, in 
various forest excursions, tramped and camped and slept, 
become wet and cold, hungry and tired almost to despera- 
tion, and drank water from all sorts of rivers and lakes, — 
and my whole stock of liipiors on a trip of two or three weeks 
could be comfortably carried in my vest-pocket; and that 
the only time I was ever sick in the woods was that morn- 
ing when I took lake water " mollified" by Benson's 
brandy. 

It is always eas}^ enough, after breakfast, to fill the 
coffee-pot again, or, better, make tea, with which to quench 
thirst, if no spring can be found. But it is desirable to 
have a flask of liquor along, — brandy or whisky, — for 
emergencies, as medicine. I fear, however, they are not 
always hygienic considerations that govern the commissary 
as he includes in his supplies bottled ale, and sundry black 
bottles of stronger stuff. 

Possibly, one ought to have a little regard for the welfare 
of the guides of the wilderness, ^irave, faithful, hearty 
and generous in the main, but some of whom, through the 
exainple and well-meant importunities of the parties they 
accompany, become intemperate and in the end worthless 
characters. Many of them, however, taking warning from 
the fate of others of their class, use liquors very sparingly, 
generally after their hardest work is done, and prefer a cup 
of tea, hot or cold, to any other stimulant. 

Our party, good fellows, temperate and free from all bad 



48 JOCKS LAKE. 

habits, yet believed in the old-fashioned idea that a thor- 
ou2:hly good time in the woods and entire safety from a 
" change of Avater " involve a little whisky, together with 
lemons and sugar. 

"Here, now, — that will fix you up all right," said 
Thompson to me, when we reached camp, directing my 
attention to a cup on the rude table. "I've cqncocted a 
punch in that pail that will make you fishermen happy 
again. I knew you would all come in heated and thirsty, 
— and perhaps cross if yoiu- luck wasn't good. Fill up, 
boys ! and drink to —ourselves ! 

' ' What ? Not any ? What do you mean ? ' ' 

" Oh, T think I'll give those lemons another squeeze and 
try lemonade. I don't believe I was exactly seasoned right 
for anything stronger; " and upon that I fashioned a drink 
that cooled and refreshed me, and speedily put me in as 
good spirits as any of them. And after that, the lemons 
after being put through the squeezer for the punch-pail 
were laid aside for my special use, — and nobody felt 
aggrieved. 

A little before sunset, George rowed me up the lake two 
or three miles, on an exploring expedition. The lake is five 
or six miles long and about one mile wide, lying like an 
irregular crescent, curving westward and nestled among the 
mountains. The shores are, in the main, rocky and tirm, 
but at the outlet, southward, they degenerate, and, not far 
below, the stream wanders off into a marsh, or pond, nearly 
overgrown Avith lily-pads, — a fampus resort for deer. The 
lake itself is fed by springs and has no inlet of any 



SUNSET. — HEART OP THE FOREST. 49 

coiiseqiieiice ; aud its waters are as pure as Nature, in lier 
own eliosen laboratories in the forest-clad mountains, can 
produce. It is the natural home for trout, who relish the 
best thiniis as well as an epicure or the most cultivated 
aristocrat, — which the trout family is among lishes. 

Everj^ sense was keenly alive to enjoy this unwonted 
scene, as I sat and half-reclined at my ease in the stern of 
the boat, while the strong, steady oar-strokes of my guide 
s\vei>t us out from shore upon the smooth bosom of the 
water. The morning had l)een l)eautiful,— the approaeh- 
ing evening was not less so. After his strong and stately 
course through the sky, the sun, about to depart, seemed to 
mellow and soften with tenderness tow^ardthe green forests 
and silvery waters, and I easily fancied he lingered reluct- 
ant to say good-night to so much loveliness. 1 am sure 
that with almost a human touch he kissed, with something 
very like a "good-night!" the lake, and then the timid 
foliage that crept down to the eastern shore, and then 
the sturdy, robust forest trees as they climbed u\) the 
mountains, and at hist the mountain brows themselves. 
And was he not looking backward, with a little mist in his 
eye, for one more glance of recognition from his beloved 
forest children, as he journej'ed on with unabated vigor in 
his tireless course towards the new morningV 

The stillness of the hour was unbroken by converse. 
There was so much to receive that I hardly had a thouiiht 
to utter; and my honest guide, accustomed as he was to the 
beauty and tender awe of such a scene, in the forest life he 
had led, and ordinarily unobservant of it, was yet touched 



50 jock's t-ake, 

upon the lips by a hand he could not see, and held his 
peace. 

At length, sweeping around to the west, shortly after the 
sun had descended below the mountains, I went on shore 
to get one look at the heart of the forest. My guide sat on 
a rock at the water's edge by liis boat drawn up at his side, 
while I alone entered the dense and now darkening woods. 
There was something fearful in the stillness. The solemn 
silence seemed like the hush before the bursting of a storm, 
and the ancient trees frowned from their loft}^ heights,^ 
I half thought the}" were gathering up their knotted arms to 
strike down the curious invader of their sacred halls. As 
I advanced, an undergrowth of small trees, in time to 
become the successors of the heavy giants above them ( so 
does Nature, in man and tree, w^ork out her eternal law of 
succession and change), — impeded my progress, and the 
darkness was still descending. 

However, — such was the marvellous fascination of the 
hour and the place, — I pressed on, calling occasionally to 
my guide, and awaiting his responsive call, to ensure my 
being able to find my way back to the boat. But, at length, 
I discovered that I was walking in beaten paths. Tracks 
of animals of no mean proportions were behind and before 
me. All the legends of wolves and bears and panthers that 
I had ever heard or read, flashed upon my memory, — and 
with one more call to George, I turned and hastened back 
to the shore. 

I was content with my one glimpse, by twilight, at the 
forest's great and solemn heart; and having once, alone, 



THOMPSON GOES A-FISIITNG. 51 

and in such an hour, touched it with ni}^ own hand and 
listened to its throb, I have felt the awe of that experience 
evermore. 

We returned to camp, the inevitable smudge, the camp- 
tire, the pipe, the story and joke and banter, and, at last to 
our bed of boughs, — one genuine day of our vacation ended. 



CHAPTER lY. 

Two (lays after, Tlioinpson had arranged everything at 

> 
camp to his satisfaction, — among other things, having 

erected a tlag-stalf and run up tlie American tlag, which 
we thereafter vigorously cheered as we nightly returned 
from our fishing or our exi)loring. He had gone out row- 
ing, near l)y, or bathing, and amused himself watching the 
rabbits that came out at nightfall after they became 
accustomed to our presence, 1>ut had not j'et wet a line. 

"Now, gentlemen, ''said he after breakfast, this morning, 
"I propose to have a day of fishing. I shall la}' aside all 
official responsibilities, and, on vour own level, proceed to 
show you what an old fisherman can do when ' he's got a 
good ready, ' — and .you. " turning to me, "shall be my 
comj>anion. " 

'■ That's wise, " said Benson. — " to choose one as a wit- 
ness who never has caught trout before, and who will 
therefore I>e duly impre-ssed with your prowess. " 

" I am convinced, " said the Professor, " that our astute 

, C'ai)tain has in mind to claim the coml)ined catch as his 

own. There is nothing in the way of impudence that 

might not be expected of a man direct from Washington. " 

"Jealousy! pure jealousy ! gentlemen. Horace, you are 
to go with us, " added Thompson, turning to that worthy, 
who was busj' with his housekeeping duties; "and put up 



THOMPSON GOES A-FISHING. 53 

a good lunch, for we shall be gone all daj^, — and don't for- 
get the lemons for this cokl-water-man's drink. " 

As we strolled along towards the boat, — Thompson and 
I. — Thompson said, "I didn't want any of those boys to go 
with me to-day. They are all fish-mad. They are 
glorious fellows, but they liave been bitten by trout, and 
nothing satisfies them but killing trout again. Now, I love 
fishing dearly. There is no sport like it for me. But there 
is a vast deal in fishing besides catching fish, and that is 
what I want to get to-day. I want to explore this lake, — 
to enjoy this scenery a little, — as well as to fish. They 
Avouldn't be willing to do that, — it would be just fish! fish! 
fish! all day with them, and if a fellow ventured a little 
sentiment, there 'd be no end of banter. But you are new 
to the woods — no trout has ever bitten you yet, although 
your day is pretty sure to come if you repeat this kind of a 
trip a few times, — and I have seen you looking off on the 
lake and the mountains, in the morning and at sunset, in 
such a sort of way, that I have judged that you enjoyed 
these things enough to go a-fishing on my plan. So, I have 
iisked you to go with me. " 

"Yes, " said I, "this is all new and very delightful to 
me. On this trip I mean to catch the forest if I don't catch 
many trout. I can't be content to go away with only a dim 
memory of what, when I stop to look at it and feel it, 
impresses me more deeply than anything else in nature 
ever did. " 

"Agreed, then," replied Thompson, "that for to-day, 
Ave shall fish as lazily, and talk as sentimentally, and keep 



54 jock's lake. 

silence, when we choose, as freely as we may happen to 
desire. " 

By this time Horace had come down to the shore, where 
we were standing; and in a few moments we were out on 
the water, pointing directly for "Old BaUl Head. "' a rocky 
promontor}^ across the lake, where stood a l)ark shanty 
Avhichhad sometime been occupied by a fishing jj^rty. 

We fished a few rods off the point, taking eight splendid 
trout, and then moved on, up tlie eastern shore of the lake. 
We fished at various promising places, went ashore to find 
cold springs and to gather spru(?e-gum, and passed nothing 
of interest without examination. 

At the head of the lake, and on the western shore, right 
on a little bluff, close to the water's edge, we landed to 
take our noon-day lunch. On a big soil and moss covered 
rock we spread our ))lanket for a couch, for we proposed 
to ourselves the oriental luxury of reclining while we 
feasted. Two great trees, rooted upon the rock, spread 
tlieir leafy arms al)Ove us, while the heavy forest pressed 
down behind us and lent additional shade and the delicious 
coolness of the dense woods. Horace built a smudge in a 
little hollow near by, on the windward side, and (hen drew 
out the big basket of lunch, and made a refreshing lemon- 
ade. And "then and there," lying on the softest of 
couches, looking far down the lake and out on the ever- 
green forest on the shores and mountains in the distance, 
we lunched. — stop])ing between frequent "bites" at 
excellent sandwiches of ham and soda crackers, or cold 
trout and johnny-cake, and sips of lemonade, to admire 



LUNCH AND SLUMBER. 55 

and comment on tlie wonderful l)cauty that surrounded us. 
The smudge graciously sent its tin}^ clouds just above our 
heads, and spared our sentiment the mocking tears that 
come — and end — in smoke. 

Then we lighted our cigars, — for this was Thompson's 
holiday, — reclined on our backs, gazed up where the 
smoke wrcatfis were floating among the green leaves, and 
were silent. Cigars finished, and fanned by the softest 
Ijreezes stealing over the \mve water, we droi)ped off to 
sleep, — every one of us .in a blissful nap, more delicious 
than the sweetest, stolen, summer sleep in a country church 
during a. drowsy sermon. Good, kind wolves! most 
excellent ))e:irsl and self denying panthers! — whose tracks 
and traces we thought we saw on the forest side of us, — 
man}^ thanks to j'ou for that peaceful and undisturbed 
slumber! 

The responsibilities of station vex the soul of authority, 
even in slum1)er, — and the Captain wakened. Our oriental 
table and conch luid wooed and lulled us for an hour and 
a half of the noon-day; and we quickly gathered up our 
basket and blankets, bestowed them and ourselves in the 
boat, and pushed from slioi-e. 

Down the lake we rowed again, chatting of hunter's and 
fisherman's exploits, of the lieauty and exquisite loveli- 
ness of the scenes coming upon us gently and "with a 
sweet surprise " at every turn,— our happy thoughts and 
reveries, when we ceased talking, keeping time and tune 
with the sturdy and steady oar-strokes of the wiry and 
willmg guide. We hardly cared to fish, and wiien we did, 



56 " jock's lake. 

the dropping of our hooks iu the water was like smiting a 
mirror into fragments, — so utterly quiet and glassy-calm 
was the surface, — and the trout, as w^ell as we, seemed to 
be in a revery after a lunching of their own. 

We had been told of a rock on the west shore, " as big 
as a house," placed or misplaced thereby some convulsion 
of nature. It was visible from afar, and we p,ut ashore 
near its base. Thompson and Horace sat on a rock by the 
water in the shade, while I paid a visit of curiosity and 
respect to the mysterious stranger. A tree had fallen 
against its side, and on that I climbed as far as the tree 
went and then clambered on a precarious footing up the 
nearl}^ perpendicular side to the top. It was ovei' twenty 
feet high, and about thirty feet by fifteen on the top, and 
in general outlines rectangular, a conglomerate boulder, 
with shining quartz intermingled with sand stone. I 
pecked some of the jewels from his crown and put them 
in my pocket for souvenirs. The grand old fellow had a 
histor}" but he was mute and silent in our presence, and 
refused to be interviewed. 

After our early supper, we all gathered about the camp- 
tire, as usual, to talk over the affairs of the da}" and to 
enjoy the pipes and jokes and stories. 

The rabbits, by this time, had become (juite accustomed 
to our presence, and came out after sunset from the shrub- 
bery at the upper end of our little farm, to feed. We were 
greatly ammused and interested in their play, and watched 
them with the spirit of a naturalist, until some earthy- 
minded soul suggested that rabbits made an excellent stew. 



RABBIT-STEW.^-" THE PLY." — FOREST SOUNDS. 57 

"Aye! Aye!" said Horace, " I can make a rabbit stew 
fit for any man in the party." 

"Let's have 'em! " hoarsly whispered that insatiate fiend, 
Benson. 

"Yea, it is not meet that men should live on fish, 
alone," gravely declared the Professor — he of the well 
lined abdomen — " and 1 opine that " — 

"Well, well!" said Thompson, as he half rose from his 
seat in apparent disgust, "if this scholastic gentleman 
means to make a pun on fiesh and fish in this high-handed 
manner, 1 suggest that somebody shoot hiin, — he'd make a 
stew for half a tribe of cannibals." 

"Such wrath in celestial minds ? '" retorted the Profes- 
sor; "ma}" not one signif}^ his occasional desire for meat, 
without danger of being made that which he desires ? " 

But at this instant the Neophyte, who had ciuietly taken 
a gun from the hut, [)ullcd the trigger and ended the 
wordy controvers}" and the career of a fat rabbit at the 
critical juncture. The rest of the rabbit family hopped and 
skittered otf into the woods instantly, and Horace speedily 
prepared the game for stewing in the morning. When 
once we had tasted fiesh again, all scruples against killing 
the pretty creatures vanished, and we went to our butcher's 
as regularly as the familj^ man at home, — always, however, 
as a matter of safety, ordering a rabbit stew. 
"^ In the afternoon, on the following day, Thompson, — who 
evidently still loved the woods and waters for something 
besides what he could catch with a hook, — graciously taking 
me as his companion again, went down the lake to the 



58 jock's TiAKE. 

outlet, where we left our boat unci scrambled down over 
rocks and fallen trees, near the rapid stream, to " the fly " 
(vlci ?) — a broad, shallow, marshy pond, half overgrown 
with lily-pads — where deer love to feed. We gathered 
wintergreens on our wa3% and pitcher-plants b}^ the shore, 
picked u}) a feather from an eagle's wing, — that was al)out 
all — but heartily enjoyed the sunshine and shade and I lie 
weird stillness. 

Tbe forest has its sounds, even on tlie (piictcst of days, — 
the slight rustle of the aspen leaves, perhap;., — tbe low, sad 
note of the wood bird flitting through the shade, — the 
startled chirrup of the chipmunk. — the scream of an eagle 
soaring high above the trees, — the buzzing of tlies in the 
sunshine, — but the total impression is of a stillness almost 
appalling. But there come days in the woods, and especially 
nights, when nature becomes restive and wakens from this 
sleep of her forces. The air so soft and gentle becomes 
nervously tense and strong as the muscles of a rudely 
awakened giant. It stretches out its invisible jirms and 
swings and sways them until the wild, rushing sounds roar 
through the trees ; dashes ui)on the placid watei-s, and the 
waves rvm to and fro as in fear or in m.-idness; sweeps and 
plunges down through the mountain ])asses, and the mouin- 
ful wail of the startled recesses rises in a passionate i)rayer 
for peace again; seizes the monarchs of the forest and 
wrestles and strives with them until the}' groan in the 
mad grasp of a power that cannot be grasped again, for it 
is the intangible power of the air. And then, the storms! — 
the wild carnival of the lightnings, — the horrid bellow and 



BENSON "goes FOR " A DEER. 59 

rattling savagery of the thunder, its roar and crash among 
the mountains, — and the blinding floods of rain, descend- 
ing as if the clouds were huge catapults hurling their Avild, 
Avateiy missiles down with all the wrath of war! If the 
stillness was appalling, so is this, the other possil)ility of an 
Adirondack day. 

But on this occasion the giants were all asleep, and 
Thompson and I stepped over and around them unconscious 
of their presence, and declared there was notliing half 
so charming as an afternoon raml)le and scramble in the 
Adirondack woods. 80 do we all, in our daily lives, walk 
among the unseen elements of tragedies, happy to day in 
the sunshine, — to-morrow sitting Avith bowed heads and 
aching hearts in the ilarkened home where the storm has 
burst, the bolt descended, and there is an imtold desolation. 

We were in camp again, in the evening. " Boys," said 
Benson, "Horace and I have a little business on hand. 
This camp hasn't had a mouthful of venison yet, — and 
there's plenty of it running around loose in these woods. 
We're going for it." 

"Put him in the hold!" shouted the sailor-merchant, — 
' ' he's gone daft ! Too much lake water, no doubt, and too 
little 'enlivener. ' — You don't propose to go out of camp 
this dai'k night, do youV " 

" That's the programme, my dear, innocent friend. You 
don't suppose I mean to shoot a deer up there where Neo- 
phyte shot the rabbit, do you? " 

"But it's darker than a cellar, — and it's almost sure to 
rain. " 



60 jock's lake. 

" So much the better," replied Benson. " You can never 
' jack ' a deer in a bright night,— and this sultry air makes 
the flies bite, and a deer's sure to go for the water when the 
flies pester him as they will to-night.— Hurry up, Horace, 
with the 'jack ' " 

Horace had prepared the ' jack-light, ' which was simply 
a piece of bark nailed upright on the semi-circular edge of 
a bit of board so as to form a rude reflector, within which 
was placed a short candle, the whole supported by a stick 
thrust through a hole in the front seat of the boat. 

Benson finished loading both barrels of his heavy shot- 
gun with buck-shot, examined everything to see that there 
should be no accident in the darkness, or mis-fire at the 
critical moment. Then the two went down to the landing, 
and we heard the muflEied gi-ating of the boat as they pushed 
off from the rocks and disappeared from sound and sight 
down the lake. They were to land at the foot of the lake 
and then clamber and scramble as best they could, in the 
darkness, down through the pathless woods to " the fly, " 
where a water-soaked, half -rotten, leaky scow awaited 
them. In that unrelialjlc craft, at the uncanny hour of 
midnight, they were to light up the "jack, " and "float" 
for deer. Horace ' was to paddle as silently as a snake 
glides over the grass; the " jack" was to throw its light in 
front, leaving the boat and its occupants in the shade; the 
hunter was to sit close behind the jack-staff, gun in hand, 
ready in an instant to shoot at the "two globes of fire" 
which the eyes of the deer would resemble when staring, 
confounded at the light, or to shoot at his body if luckily 
that sliould be l)rought into relief. 



BUCK FE^^E. — MIMIC BATTLES. 61 

AW this was to be doue, it had been explained to me as 
being the Neophyte,— but at the last the deer itself 
might fail to perform its part of the drama. There's many 
a slip, I was told, between a deer and a shot. Sometimes 
the deer has grown wise through experience, and in its 
small bi'ain reasons that if a candle explodes and roars and 
stings the innocent spectator with a stray bu(;k-shot one 
night, it may do so another night, and is not to be trusted 
to approach; and the deer betakes it to its legs and shows 
no globes of tire at all. Bat an unsophisticated deer is very 
curious, — and. }iossil»ly, would know good and evil, — and 
upon seeing a briglil light, and nothing more, stares and 
stands, if he hears no noise and does not smell the foe, 
until the huntei' approaches to within tifty, forty, thirty 
feet. Then there is nothing to do but to keep one's nerves 
steady, silently raise and aim the gun, and pull the trigger. 
If, however, the shooter is new to the experience, he is 
likely to be more nei'vous than the deer is, — to forget to 
shoot, sometimes, or to shake as in an ague tit, and to 
commit indiscribableblunders,-in other words, to have "the 
buck fever. " So that, after all, "jacking deer " is not such 
a one-sided affair as at tirst it would seem to be. 

Meanwhile, we had withdrawn to the hut, and retilled and 
lighted our pipes. A quartette of us, seated like so man}^ 
tailors on the blanket-spread couch, were, with joke and 
laughter and .snatches of song and whistled airs, fighting the 
mimic battle of "kings" and "queens " and "knaves." 
Nothing more fearful was done in these battles than tliat 
"clubs" smashed "hearts," the vulgar " spade " won 



62 jock's lake. 

victories ovei\tlie aristocratic ''diamond, " and the mathe- 
matically impossible came to "pass,"— one counted more 
than ten, and to this magic quality even royalty and knavery 
succumbed. The Neophyte,— an inveterate keeper of a 
diary,— by the same tallow-dip, with a cracker box for a 
taljle, was writing up his notes for the day, and gathering 
up the little odds and ends that, woven together, make up 
the warp and woof of forest life in camp. 

But the longest and jolliest evening in the woods, as well 
as out, at last brings bed-time, be the couch that of luxury 
or the bed of boughs. 

Some hours after, I half awoke, and by the dim light of 
a flickering and sleepy candle saw Benson, all wet and 
dripping, with slouched hat and long, rubber overcoat 
shining with moisture, holding his gun in his hands, and 
standing just within the door; and by his side stood Horace 
with a deer flung across his shoulders, the legs drawn around 
his neck like a huge, fantastic necktie. In an instant every 
one of us was wide-awake, and while the rain was beating 
in torrents upon the rude bark-roof of our hut, Benson, 
while removing his coat and l)oots and concocting a reviv- 
ing punch, began his story: 

"Well, boys, we've got him— sure! But wliat a time 
we've had! \"ou see, it was as dark as ten pockets lioiled 
down into one when we got to the foot of the lake. 
You couldn't see a thing. We thought we wouldn't light 
up, for there was no telling but we might scare every deer 
in the neighborhood. So we floundered along, keep- 
ing near the stream, guided by the sound of the water and 



Benson's story of the deer-hunt: 68 

the little let-up of the darkness where the trees were separa- 
ted and the sky had a chance to look down. 

" B}' good luck, we found the old scow where we left it 
when we hunted it up the other day. We found tlie oUl 
tin can under the seat and hailed out the water, hut the 
wretched craft leaked like a riddle, and we had to do a 
little more plug'g'ingup of cracks and holes hefore we dared 
to start off with her. " 

"How on earth did you do all that, in the dark?" asked 
Johnson, "and without anything to caulk her with ? " 

"Oh, Horace lighted up the jack, and kept the light from 
flaring by holding his coixt all around it, — made a regular 
dark lantern of it, j'ou see. And 1, — well, I parted with a 
good piece of my shirt-flap ft)r caulking purposes. A man 
in the woods can't be particular about these little matters. 

"Well, finally we rigged the jack in the boat and got 
afloat. Luckily it didn't rain just 3^et, although the air was 
a'^full of moisture as a balloon is of gas. We went down the 
fly ' forty rods, perhaps, about where I thought, the other 
da}', a deer ought to come in, if anywhere. Before we got 
ver}' near, I touched a match to the caudle and the thing- 
sputtered a minute and then went out. A drop of water 
had got on it, somehow. I thought we were in a fix, but 
after two or three matches had been held to the wick, the 
water dried off. ;uid the blaze started. Then I saw what a 
glorious night it was for jacking. The darkness was so 
thick that you could cut it. That I could see b}' the candle- 
light. I thought some of slicing off a few nice pieces to 
cover Horace up with; — but it wasn't necessar3\ — a deer 
couldn't have seen either of us if he had worn spectacles. 



64 jock's lake. 

"Horace paddled as if he was creeping up to a camp of 
Comaiiclies, — slowly, and so still that at one time I almost 
looked around to see if the fellow hadn't given me the slip, 
and gone ashore again. I had enough on liand, though, 
looking out under the jack in the space covered by the 
light to see the tirst show of deer, and listening with ])Oth 
ears and my mouth to hear a step or a splash. A little 
rascal of a frog startled me, once, jumping off 'a lily-pad 
into the water. ' Gracious! ' thinks I, ' there's a deer that's 
got scent of us before I've got sight of him, — and he's off 
in a minute, if that's the stjde of step he's taking!' But 
that was a false alarm, of course, and one that Horace wasn't 
fooled by, either. Then I had the dickens' own time with 
the punkies and mosquitoes. Something like five million 
of 'em settled down on me and kept off five million more 
that wanted to get on but couldn't find room. I didn't dare 
put on any tar-oil. Might as well've staid in camp as to have 
advertised in that way, — a deer would've- smelled me a 
quarter of a mile off. And I couldn't slap 'em, for a deer 
is keen to hear the slightest sound, and he can tell a frog- 
jump from a slap at a mosquito as quick as he can 
wink. So, all I could do was to rub my hands together, as 
well as I could and hold my gun, — and get mad enough to 
stand it." 

" But tell us about the deer, old fellow, and not be both- 
ering about the frogs and mosquitoes, " intei-rupted Thomp- 
son, who grudged the loquacious huntsman the time he 
took, at that hour of the night, to relate all the marvels of 
his deer-hunt. 



STORY OF THE DEP:R HUNT. 65 

" I begin to doubt, " saidJohnson, "that you shot that 
deer at all, — you make so much of — " 

" — the accessories," added the Professor, by way of 
helping- out. 

"By Jove," continued Johnson. " I believe you just cast 
anchor, down there, lit your pipe, and this deer crawled 
into your boat to be sociable, like,^and then you bloody 
pirates cut his throat." 

Benson, who by this time had relighted his pipe, smiled 
triiuuphantly and continued — "I can show you the buck- 
shot holes in his skin, to answer that, — and there's the back 
of my hand, and here's the blood-spots on my neck to sat- 
isfy any gentleman that the live million were down there. 

"Well, (puff, puif,) as I was going on to sa}^ we pad 
died along as carefully as if we were right in the midst of 
a whole herd of deer fast asleep, and were as afraid as death 
of 'em, for fully twenty minutes, when I heard another 
little splash in the water and something dripping. Horace 
heard it, too, — and it wasn't any frog-jump, this time, — 
and he just turned that boat, bow on, towards that sound, 
as if the old scow was on a greased pivot no bigger than a 
pin, — shoved her ahead four or five rods, and there stood 
my deer! He's a good looking buck now, although some- 
what in a heap, — isn't he? But you should have seen him 
then! He was up to his knees in the water, feeding on the 
lily-pads; but *the moment the light caught his eye he 
straightened up, and stood like a picture, — head up, nose a 
little thrust out as if asking questions about this new thing. 
May-be he thought it was some new sort of tire-tly that 



66 jock's lake. 

made a great flourish, — possibly, he imagined there'd been 
a new style of moon invented for s]ieeially dtirk niglits and 
that this was the way it generally rose, — pi'rhai)s, however, 
he was just dazed and didn't imagine mueh of anylliing. — 
At all events, iu^t the minute I thought I was near enough 
to put a sure shot in, I shook the boat, just a trille, and 
Horaee stopped paddling; — 1 sighted along ohl, "Sure 
Death " and blazed away. 

" My ! what a splashing and dasliing there was! As 1).id 
luck would have it, the gun kieked like fury, wlien I pulled 
it ofT, and somehow the jack was knocked over and the 
light put out. Where the candle went to, I don't knf)W. — 
Horace had another pie(>e in his pocket, -uid we lighted 
that, and then went hunting for our deer. I knew it was 
ours, fast enough, by the kind of racket he made in the 
water. He had managed to get ashore, but we tracked 
him four or five rods and found him, and Horace cut^his 
throat. Then we dragged him into the boat, came back 
to the landing, and started through tlie woods. Just then 
it began to rain. We were fairly walled up in the darkness, 
and the rain just poured. We managed to keep our candle 
burning about a (|uarter of the time, and the other three- 
quarters we were plunging into holes, over rcjcks and bogs, 
in the dark; and Horace was 'most as dead as the deer, 
while I carried the gun and the jack, and was the worst 
done-for man you ever saw. But I got my 1)uck! — and 
there he is! and if you fellows are not grateful for the ven- 
ison he'll make, — 3'^ou go, next time. My story's done." 

" For all such blessings may we be duly thankful !" sono- 
I'ously responded the Professor, 



CHAPTER V. 

The inoniiug- cjune, iiiul with it a ila}^ of alternate thun- 
der and storm and sunshine, — and our lirst Sunday" in tlie 
forest. There were no tine ch)tlies in camp; no church- 
bell sounded across the water; the I)ig, family bible and tlie 
religious weekl}' had not journej'ed thither in Wilkinson's 
wagon; but somehow all these had left some sort of im- 
press on men with sprouted beards, worn and torn attire, 
— men who had changed their skies but nijt their minds. 

"Gentlemen," said Thompson, as we emerged from the 
hut after breakfast and strolled down to the rocks on the 
shore, ' • Im not verj^ straight-laced, and don't pass, at home, 
for a Puritan, by any means; but I never fish in the woods, 
on Sunday, unless 1 am des[>erateh' hungry. Fd make 
a sorry show as your spiritual teaclier, I suspect, altb.ough 
being your Captain, I have the right to make the proper 
Sunday laws of the woods for 3'ou. Bui, bo3's, if 3'ou want 
to tish to-da}', my advic-e is, — don't! " 

"It is not ditlicult, worthy Captain, to accept your 
adviee," said the Professor, "in the presence of these rev- 
erent forests and yonder pure and placid lake, with the skj' 
above us as benignant here as where it bends over our Sab- 
bath-keeping homes. " 



jock's lake. 



"That's put rather seutimentally, isn't it, Professor?" 
inquired Benson; " hut if you get right down to hard-pan, 
and say that a man's a man, no matter what sort of clothes 
he happens to have on or wlio's watching him, or wliere he 
happens to be, I just agree with you. And if he is only a 
veneered man at home, the veneer'll come off up here and 
he'll be whatever he is,— may-be a heathen." 

"You can paint and rig an old ship that's worm-eaten 
and rotten," added the old sailor, " and it looks about as 
well as a bran'-new craft with every plank and timber in 
her as sound as a bell ; but the long, lonely voyage tells on 
her, and the storm don't care for the paint,— she's pretty 
sure to go to wreck. That's the way I suspect it is with 
your 'veneered' men." 

" The man who yields obedience to law,"— and the Neo- 
phyte took a hand in the discourse,— "simply because of its 
sanctions and penalties, or because it is respectable to be 
law-abiding, is not law-abiding at all,— he's simply law-fear- 
ing or dishonor-fearing. He's the sort of man that breaks 
down suddenly and to the astonishment of every body, 
when he moves to a new country, loses the influence of 
old and restraining associations, and simply becomes his 
natural self. Your genuine man obeys law— moral as well 
as civil, civil as well as moral— because it is right to do so. 
Indeed, I don't think a man makes a very good Cliristian 
who joins the church to keep out of hell,— takes out a 
si)iritual fire-insurance policy and calls it being religious 
on principle. It isn't,— it's being religious on policy." 

"But do not you lawyers find that it is the lower motive, 



THE MORAL ''ISOTHERMAL." 69 

after all, that mainly iuHuences men to obey civil lawsV" 
asked the Professor; " and do you imagine, for a moment, 
that laws would be generally obeyed if the pimishments of 
their infraction were removed? " 

"That is for the philosopher and not the lawyer to 
answer," replied the Neophj^te. "However, it is apparent 
to any one but a dull observer, that criminal laws and their 
penalties realh' influence onlj' the smaller portion of civil- 
ized mankind ; but the line of demarcation, properl}' drawn, 
would be as great a curiositj^ as an isothermal line across 
the continent. Station, rank, wealth or povert \% education 
or ignorance, in themselves do not lix the line, — it sweeps 
high, it sweeps low, it runs strangely, to human eyes, — but 
it runs by a law as clear to the Mind which can see the man 
that is hid in the body, as the isothermal line is to the wise 
student of nature. It goes by character, — and character 
isn't reputation or position. " 

The pipes were all empty. The breakfast dishes having 
been cleared up, and affairs at camp tidied up in general, 
the guides savmtered down to the I'ocks where we sat. 

"Well, what next?" said the Captain. "From my 
small text about not going a-fishing, jou men of words have 
spun a rather lengthy sermon, — enough for to day, I guess." 

" I propose," said Benson, "that we take a row around 
the lake. It's better than sitting here — the Professor may 
break loose next. To avoid all criticism, I'll suggest that 
the guides do all the rowing, and that we reduce the 
number of oar-strokes from a himdred and lift}' to — say — 



70 JOCli'8 ''t.ake. 

Wmty a miimte. That will be about a comfortable clmrcli- 
o-oiiig jog." 

■'Better leave your rod at camp," said the C'aptaiu — 
' ' your Sundaj" morning- resolutions would fade out dread- 
fully quick if you saw a trout leap, while you were on 
3^our 'church-going jog,' if your rod was in the boat." 

And so it was ordered and done. The two boats, bear- 
ing our entire party, swept out upon the lake, followed the 
winding shores, rounded the points and penetrated the 
bajs, in a leisurely way, while we enjoyed to the full 
the freshness of the morning and all the beaut}' of the 
varied scenes. 

A thunderstorm in all its majesty and fury burst upon 
forest and hike. Forewarned by the distant but fast 
approaching roar and the marshalling of great banks of 
clouds la the sk3^ we pushed ashore, drew our boats out of 
water and up under the trees and speedily constructed a 
refuge b}' turning them bottom side up with one end resting 
on the low limb of a tree. Likeii true Adirondack thunder- 
storm, it deluged everything around us for a few moments, 
and then hastened on with unabated fury, out of sight and 
sound. The sun shone brightly again, and we speedil}" 
resumed our quiet journeying. 

Our Suudaj^ dinner was a triumph even over Horace's 
former exploits, for. in addition to everj-^thing else, we had 
the most delicious bits of Benson's buck. 

The evening hour approached, and b}' tacit and common 
consent we all strolled down to the water's edge, stepped 
into the boats and pushed out a little distance and anchored, 



EVENING ON THE WATER. 71 

while the guides remained at camp and completed the 
homel}^ duties there. 

It was the most peaceful scene and hour we had jet 
enjoyed. Even the midges and mosquitoes, which always 
preferred to remain on shore and never pursued us twenty 
yards from land, had fallen away from us like summer 
friends. 

Our talk was of times gone by, of friends absent, of 
topics hardly suggested by our surroundings; while the 
gently descending darkness and the balmy air and perfect 
serenity of nature attuned our thoughts to higher themes 
than we ventured to dwell upon in the rough-and-tumble 
of our daily camp life in the garish light of day or even 
at the nightly camp-fire. 

So passed our Sunday in the woods, — not wliolly with- 
out its good influences. 



CHAPTER VI. 

Monday morning awoke fresh and brisk, like a town 
rousing from a holiday rest. Every man of ns felt that he 
was beginning genuine forest-life anew\ 

" Boj's, I tell you it pays, even up here in the woods," 
said Benson, as he stepped out into the bright morning 
light, "to have Sunday come once a week. Something 
has turned back the clock or the almanac with me, for I 
feel a year younger than I did Saturday night." 

" And I," said the Professor, "feel it in all my nature — 
and especially in my wrists and tinger-tips — that I must 
again ply my rod. My piscatorial appetite is strong again. 
I must catch and kill — or 1 perish!" 

" It takes people ditferent ways, I see," said Johnson, 
"but I always did feel that after I had been in harbor 
awhile I wanted to up with the anchor again and put out 
to sea." 

" Well," added the Captain, "why don't you go along, 
the whole of 3'ou, and fish to your heart's content?— only, I 
give you fair warning, this venison is to be jerked, and 
we're about out of provisions, aiid you can't have the boys 
with you. — Here, Horace, fix up the racks and you jerk 
the venison; and George, you'll have to foot it out to Wil- 
kinson's and pack in some tlour and sugar and some other 



JERKING VENISON. — SHORT SI'PPT.TES. — TRAPS. V;'. 

tilings that Horace will tell j'ou about. You cau go out 
to-day, and come back to-morrow." 

The morning's fishing was very ^successful, — the trout 
themselves having apparently shared in the general Mon- 
day morning enthusiasm, and almost gleefully responding 
to the fisherman's call. On the whole, Monday was a 
triumi>h. 

On tlie following day George returned, and gaunt famine 
— in the form of short supplies — departed by the shortest 
trail to some less fortunate camp. A single letter had 
found its way to us, and that, so far as news of the outer 
world went, was read aloud to the whole party. 

There was rifle-.shooting at a target, this day; and the 
pal ma was awarded to " the Lemonader," with great good 
nature, and a tribute to the nerve-steadying effects of the 
victor's chosen beverage. 

The Neophj'te had, for days, Avearied his brain with plans 
for capturing some of the rabbit family alive. He longed 
for the cheering and humanizing influences of a menagerie. 
The care of a dumb Iteast, he thought, would exert a 
lilx-ralizing influence on the entire party of fish-slayers. 
This .day he devoted his finest talents to the construction 
of two " flgure 4" traps, with which he was wont in boy- 
hood to entrap the confiding wood-chuck, — alas! some- 
times, Xo his discomfiture, capturing (a Greek present) the 
odor-V)earing skuidv. In this contest with ral)bit wit and 
cunning, he signall}' failed. The cracker-box was too small, 
the tul), ditto, — and hairs, not hares, were the net result. 
Besides, chipmunks, — villainous little thieves! — were the 



74 jock's i-ake. 

allies of the rabbits, and sprung the traps. But at last a 
little chap ran into our hut, and him we caught and con- 
fined in a ])ark-cage then and there made. 

So did we beguile the ho\u"s of the afternoon and 
evening. 

So did not, however, Horace; for he hovered around the 
rack wheie the sliced deer-meat was slowly drj'ing and 
smoking over the tire he had built luider it, and, after cur- 
ing it to a turn, stored it away to be carried out of the 
woods as a wonderful product of woodsman's skill, to be 
shown and nibbled and pronounced delicious — after it was 
explained that it was "jerked" venison. 

The days went on, and we found renewed pleasures in 
the old employments and sports. There were the rowing, 
the fishing, the bathing, the rifle-shooting, always, and we 
invented new diversions and enjoyments almost daily, — 
small and unimportant to speak of, but wonderfully 
important to be done and enjoyed. We had our terrific 
thunderstorms, depositing floods of water, rather too fre- 
quently, but they w^ere always so grand, that if we got a 
wetting there was no grumbling, — it spoiled no clothing 
and broke no business engagement. The fishing was all 
that our more ardent fishermen desired; and there was 
something for every taste and fancy and desire. Even the 
screams of the owls by night— and those other sounds, as 
of human agony that once we heard,— brought something 
to us. 

At last, there came an evening — our last in our woodland 
home— when we rowed out on the beautiful lake to say our 



GOOD night! and farewell! 75 

liiiai Good Night ! to all its loveliness. It was more 
l)eautifiil, if possible, than ever before. We had come to 
know and love its features like those of a dear friend. 
We had seen its face in all moods and phases of feeling. 
To-night it was placid, — quiet and sad, we thought, — or was 
that a reflection of our own emotions? As the evening- 
shades crept steadily and heavily down from the moun- 
tains, and then The full-orl)ed moon arose and dispelled 
them again, and we lingered, reluctant to say the parting- 
word to the lovely water with the home-spun name, — we, 
hovering between two worlds, the depth above and the 
depth below, — and looked abroad on forest and mountain 
and lake, in their supernatural glor}^ of light and shade, 
and felt — as who does not when bidding farewell? — that 
we might never behold them again, who shall blame us if, 
for that moment, we idealized all this charm and beauty 
and mystery, and gave it a human soul, — and if we stood 
on the shore, at last, and waved a silent adieu with emotions 
like those a lover feels as he bids the maid he loves a long 
farewell ! 

Many a time, that evening scene in its surpassing serenity 
and loveliness has come to the heart of the Neophyte, in 
his slumbers by night. — but his waking vision has never 
since looked upon the beautiful water, to which he that 
night silentl}^ said "Good Night, forever!" . 

The nois)' morning came, the bright, strong, sensible sun, 
and the preparations for our departure, which consumed 
nearly all the forenooon. It was surprising how much 
packing we had to do, considering what an impudently 



70 jock's lake. 

small load we had when the packing was done. We had, 
in fact, pretty much eaten up the burden we brought in. 
Wilkinson's phenomenal horses were on hand, with their 
owner, and by noon we were ready to move forth. 

Horace and the Neophyte led the van, and plunged into 
the forest. The long, weary tramp to Wilkinson's was 
bec'un. The vanguard were fortunate enough *o see that 
Ijeautif ul sight— a deer by day-light. When his vision was 
blessed by this sight, the Neophyte felt that his cup had 
run over. The timid creature gazed— we gazed— but a step 
forward, and she sprang from the water's edge and disap- 
peared in the forest. 

For four hours, through mud and over rocks and streams 
and mountains, and through thunderstorms, we steadily 
tramped,— every step elastic and strong, and without fa- 
tigue, (such was the triumph of Nature's Medicine!) until, 
safe and sound, we all reached Wilkinson's again. 

At three o'clock the next morning we were up and awa\ 
to Prospect, twenty-one miles distant, where we caught a 
railroad train, and at lOJ A. M. were again in Utica. There 
we were restored to cleanliness, our good clothes, hotel 
cookery, time tables; and, with lliese restored, we separated, 
going our several ways, and ovu- delightful, long-to-be- 
remembered expedition "to Jock's Lake " w^as done. 



JhE JSOF^TH^F^;^ 'WlX.DERJME^^, 

OR 

THE ST. REGIS AND SA HAN ACS. 



CHAPTER VII. 

One Jiil)^ afternoon in 187 — , and subsequent to the 
events of the hist chapter, the Editor and I, after a long 
journe}' by rail, found ourselves at the Ferguson House in 
the thriving town of Malone, Franklin County, N. Y. 
Our faces were turned towards the Northern Wilderness. 

Passing many gateways to the land of promise, we 
sought this as an entrance to a region of peculiar delights, 
and one remarkably full of benefits to the tired seeker of a 
vacation. We were to climb up, southerly, out of the 
Valley of the St. Lawrence, into mountains and forests 
where the lakes were cold, the air invigorating and brac- 
ing even in the period of summer heat, — the spruces and 
balsams taking kindly to both the latitude and the alti- 
tude. 

Twenty -five miles to the south and well into the woods, 
lay Meacham Lake, where a comfortable forest hostelry was 
maintained b}^ A. R. Fuller. This was our first objective 
point. 

In an hour we had dined, our liver}' was at the door, our 
luggage packed, and with two gentlemen from New York, 
of like destination, we were in our seats, and awaj' with a 
dash. 

We were granted a perfect da}', a good span of horses, 
an easy-riding wagon, an intelligent driver, and for many 



80 THE ST. REGIS AND SAPtANACS. 

miles a good road ; Avhile our chance companions proved 
tobemostajireeable. For the first third of the distance our 
way lay through an ordinary, cultivated, farming region; 
then we began to climb the foot-hills and at length the 
mountains, in a rougher and more rocky and less cultivated 
region, until at length, in the density of the forest, weiost 
all reckoning. 

The first mountain that we ascended, in the open coun- 
try, gave to our view the broad, vast valley of the St. Law- 
rence, in panorama. We climbed and straggled up on 
foot, halting and turning as often to catch the changing 
scenes as to rest from our weary labors. Far off to the 
north, north-west and north-east extended below us 
the i)lain, in field and woodland and town, the shining belt 
of the distant river faintly gleaming under the July sun ; 
and the receding Canadian liills, in the remote distance, at 
length mingled their hazy blue with the tenderer azure of 
the sky. The higher we climbed, the grander the scene 
and the wider the scope of vision, although the barrier of 
hazy blue far off continually lifted its front, a shore to the 
sea of sunshine in the valle3' below. 

There was a strange thing. Here and there, in the valle}- 
plaiu, arose, bold and rugged, like a vast boulder, a moun- 
tain with almost perpendicular sides that were bare and 
looked to be rock, —detached palisades, or, lost and forsaken 
antediluvian monarchs with their rugged forest crowns yet 
on their heads. Or, were they massive towers of Babel, 
built in some mad freak b}" the old Sons of the North, or, 
fortresses of defense against Odin and Thor? Whatever 



MOUNTAINS. — WILDERNESS ROMANCES. 81 

the}' were, tlie}' are dow striking features of scenerj^ to one 
climbing toilsomely up the momitaius to the forest. And 
if you journey thither, praj^ you may have a bright July 
day over your heads, with a sea of sunshine rolling 
its gently swelling tides from the foot of the mountains you 
climb to the far off blue-haze mountains behind which the 
Canadian wilds stretch away to the Arctic Sea. 

There are manj^ romances connected with the wilderness; 
— of hermits who sought the depths of the forests to hide 
some sorrow or crime from the gaze of men ; — of refugees 
from foreign lands, nobles and princes at home, who came 
hither to bury themselves in utter obscurity until a new 
political revolution should restore them to favor and for- 
tune. Even a Bonaparte came to the solitudes, with wealth 
and pomp, and left a story that will be repeated as long as 
men love tlie marvellous. 

"Old John Brown," for years, lived in the wilderness as 
the friend and counselor of the colored settlers to whom 
Gerrit Smith, with good will but poor wisdom, gave lands 
for farms and homes, and ' ' his body lies a-mouldering in 
the ground," at North Elba, where he had lived, while his 
soul has been marching on in the events of well nigh a 
quarter of a centur}^ since he died on the scaffold. 

Then come the homely and pitiful romances of gigantic 
business enterprises in the wilderness, gone to wreck and 
ruin. This strange region is a vast l)ed of iron ore. 
Untold wealth is hidden in the mountains. Strong men 
have grappled with the problem of its removal; money and 
thougiit and skill and tremendous toil have been expended' 



82 THE ST. REGIS AND SARANACS. 

hivislily, to that end; but all to no purpose. The wrecks 
are scattered here and there, monuments of ill-directed 
energy, and warnings against any future endeavor of the 
kind without the use of such modern api>liances as shall 
absolutely conquer the stern resistance of this region to all 
attacks upon its treasures. 

In our journeying, before we reached the dense forest, 
we touched upon the edge and saw the desolate home of 
one of these latter romances, in the town of Duane. And 
it will do to be briefly historical, perhaps, — since in that 
consists the principal pail of the romance. 

There lived in the city of New York during the Revo 
lution, and long after, James Duane, — a lawjer and states- 
man, useful, influential and famous in his daj% and 
honored l\v President Washington with an appointment as 
the first United States Judge of the District of New York. 
He performed the rare act, as he became old, of voluntaril}^ 
laying off the robes of office. Upon his resignation, he 
removed to Schenectady, and there died inFebrunry, 1797, 
leaving one son and four daughters. His grandson, James 
Duane, having acquired, by marriage with a daughter of 
William Constable, a large tract of territory in the then 
named town of Malone, (from which the town of Duane 
was afterwards formed,) removed thither from Schenectad}' 
with his famil}' in 1825, and made his home nearl}' ten 
miles from his nearest neighbor, the most remote settler in 
the forest in all that region. He and others entered upon 
tbe project of iron manufacturing in 1828, built the neces- 



THE DUANES. 83 

saiy works, formed a settlement in due time, spent a for- 
tune, and disastrously ended the experiment in 1849. 

We passed through the ruins of this enterprise ; and our 
driver told the story of the Duanes, as we rode along 
between the miles of maples they planted by the road-side 
and the miles of stone fence they built. He pointed out 
the spot where the old mansion stood, — burned mysteriously 
soon after the elder Duane died, — and we saw for ourselves 
the deserted barns scattered through the meadows along 
the river bottoms, the weather-beaten, abandoned houses 
of the laborers and other subordinates, and the various 
signs of the life and activity that must once have prevailed 
there. And we saw a man of slouched figure, in butter- 
nut suit, sJjOvenly and heavily bearded, carrying a scythe 
on his arm towards the poor, barren meadow, — and he was 
a Duane! This poor remnant of the great house of Judge 
Duane bowed gloomily to ns as we passed and gazed curi- 
ously at him-, and we left him behind. 

But the scene was far different — so the story went ( and 
it was afterwards corroliorated by others ) — when the first 
Duane came. He was dashing, rich, gay, aristocratic, 
high blooded, and he came like a prince. His progress to 
his forest estates was a triumphal procession. His house 
rivalled in luxury the manor of his ancestors, the Livings- 
tons. The work of hewing down the forest went on bravely 
under many hands, and the wooded hills resounded Avitli 
shout and axe-strokes and the rumble of toil. 

Then came the troops of friends and associates from the 
east, brave men and fair women, for summer and autumn 



84 THE ST. REOIS AND SARANACS. 

sport. There was feasting and revelry. There was wine 
and frolic. There was stag-hunting with hound and horn 
and caparisoned steed. There was, indeed, in this rude 
American forest, the luxury, gayety, roystering and wild 
sport of Ijaronial castle and estate in the old world in the 
old days. 

The driver told us all this in his homely way, >as he drove 
on, and said — " and that rough fellow you saw hack there 
is the last of the Duanes in this neighborhood. " 

The twenty-five miles were dreadfully drawn out, and 
long before we reached our journey's end the double dark- 
ness of the dense woods and the night settled down upon 
us. The conversation waned, and we were most busily 
employed in watching our way, as well us we^ could, up 
and down the hills in the forest, wondering what was ten 
yards ahead of us, and exercising our faith* in the sharp- 
sightedness, sagacity and true-footedness of our steeds, and 
in the experience and watchfulness of our driver. At one 
time, as we were plunging in the darkness down a hill, there 
was a shake and a shock as of a railroad collision, and 
everything came instantly to a stand-still. Our driver shot 
out of the wagon over a front wheel as if propelled by a 
cannon, while we, wedged in by the seats and the luggage, 
found ourselves most unceremoniously huddled, in a most 
miscellaneous way, in the bottom of the wagon. A recon- 
noissance discovered to us that no serious damage was 
done, although the driver complained of a bruised shoul- 
der, upon which he had very suddenly alighted. Nothing 
but a small, stubborn stump projecting into the road 



STUMPS AND DUMPS. — FULLER's. 85 

was the occasiou of this uncomfortable cominotioD, but it 
was enoui^h to make us all doubl}^ strain our e3^es the 
remainder of the journej^ in watching for further offending 
stumps. 

We were glad and tired, when, at ten o'clock, we drew 
up at a little log-house, all in darkness, on a lake shore, and 
the driver shouted in cheerful accents, "Here we are!" 
We were just in time, too, for in a few minutes the rain 
poured down upon the roof in torrents, and the night took 
on an inkier l)lackness. Our host, Fuller, speedil}' provided 
supper for his hungry guests, and without much ado we 
climbed up stairs and into our comfortable beds. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

The morning- came, briiilil and fresh, and i)re8ented us in 
excellent condition and spirits. We found th:jt we had 
descended upon a delightful vvildei'ness home, ui)on the 
northern shore of Meacham Lake, — a body of water stretch- 
ing one and a half miles southward, and one and a half 
miles in width, surrounded on ev^ery side by prime- 
val forests, and on nearly every side by mountains. The 
little log-hotel in which we had slept and eaten faced 
toward the water, and across its front ran a rude, ample 
verandah; while behind it was a small clearing where the 
household vegetables struggled, under inhospitable condi- 
tions, to meet the modest expectations of their cultivator, 
and where, under the 3^earning gaze of J'uller's excessivel}" 
stead}'^ span of horses and a very mild cow, a small field of 
diminutive oats was ripening and the thin gho.st of a ha}' 
crop was maturing. 

On the east, a few feet distant, was the older log-house, 
which once served as the only dwelling, and where under 
former auspices and administi-ations there had been wild 
times of sport and carousal. It was now simply the " guide- 
house, " and also contained Fuller's little shop where a rod 
or a gun could be repaired as neatly as skill and a tine set 
of implements could do it. It was also the general meeting- 
place of the sportsmen and male tourists. On the racks 



MEACIIAM LAKE. — FULLER's. 87 

and nails and pegs Avere hung guns, rods, fish-baskets, 
landhig-nets, powder-flasks, shot-pouches and rubber boots 
and coats, — indeed, about everything one could think of as 
ever going into the woods; while up stairs was the one large 
sleeping apartment of the guides. 

On the other side of the "hotel " was a new fi-a me -dwell 
ing, " for geiitlenu'ii accomjianied l)y ladies. " in accord- 
ance with a law of civilization which always has the 
approbation of the fortunate monopolists, Itut wliich inevi- 
tably strikes the uncomfortable excluded as an invidious 
distinction not consistent with the broad application of the 
principle underlying female suffrage. 

The Editor and I, belonging for the time to the excluded, 
were only able to saj" that the building looked like a com- 
fortable sort of barracks, and we endeavored to persuade 
ourselves that our own snug (juarters under the sharp- 
IMtched roof of the log-house nnist be more comfortable and 
cozy than anything foimd in the more modern and preten- 
tions structure. 

A rambling and well V(>ntilated log-l)arn and stable in the 
rear, a log pen for the hungry and restless deer-hounds, and 
a wood-pile conunensurate in size with the length of the Avin- 
tersand thedeptli of the snow in this region, — both of which 
Fuller was accustomed to meet, endure and facedown, all 
alone, with his personal pluck and presence, — comi)leted 
the picture. 

As it happened, for a few days we four were the only guests 
occupying the log house, while two or three families from 
New York and Brookl3'n, including nurses and several 



88 THE ST. REGIS AND SAKANACS. 

children just graduated from their cradles, were occupy- 
ing the more modern building. The gentlemen had waxed 
rich, l)ut had not ceased to delight in the experiences of 
forest, lake and river. A young felloAv of the party, in the 
flush of his first fronting season in the wilderness, contrib- 
uted his robust enthusiasm and lull flow of luddy spirits 
to our enjoyment. 

At the guide house were several men, hired by Fuller for 
the season to act as guides and l)()atnien for his guests 
when re(piired; whil(> here, also, was "Jimmy, " the Irish 
lad of all woi-k, an indescribabl}' funny fellow and as full 
of genuine Irish wit and humor as an egii; is of meat. 

So much we saw and learned as we stretched our legs 
along the grassy slope in front of the houses, lounged under 
the breezy pines, and explored our surrovmdiugs, in the 
morning hours. 

Taking 1)oats and guides we went to the south end of the 
lake, wlieie the stream fi'om Osgood Pond enters, looks 
down the lake, and, turning hastily to the west, departs 
again with hardly an effort at forming an acquaintance 
with the beautiful lake to which it has contributed, — the 
stream becoming at its exit the east branch of the St. Regis 
River, and in due time emptying into the St. Lawrence. 
We descended this outlet to the head of the rapids, walked 
around them to a l)ridge on the road leading from Fuller's 
to I^aul Smith's on St. Regis Lake, and there vvet our lines 
and tried our luck for the first. A pleasant forenoon was 
thus passed, and we returned to the house for dinner. 

In the afternoon, we again went to the inlet and to the 



PROGKAMME. — FISHING. — "LAST MAY." 89 

outlet, both of which we fished faithfully, but with indiff- 
erent success. We had, however, made the acquaintance of 
a pretty lake, and a charniing bit of rapids below the 
bridge, and were content. 

That evening, as we were assembled in the "guide- 
house, " we discussed plans for future exploits and expedi- 
tions. Even in the easy-going, half-indolent vacation mood 
one feels the need of a programme. We construct a plan 
of operations, seat ourselves in it, as in a boat, have faith, 
and lazily wait for strong arms to row us along. It is a 
comfort to feel that we have proceeded in a business-like 
way, even in our recreation; and our conscience commends 
us much as wiien we liave taken out a life insurance policy, 
and so, like a 2,ood citizen, liave done the propei- thing for 
our family. 

On this occasion, we consulted our worthy host and the 
brown and shaggy oracles about us, for information as to 
the best fishing resorts and how to reach them. 

"There's the inlet and the outlet," said Fuller, "and 
the rapids below the bridge. " 

" But we tried them faithfully to-day," interrupted the 
Editor, "and, I must confess, with some disappointment. " 

"Well, last May bushels of trout were taken there, " was 
the answer. 

"It isn't May now, " retorted tlie Editor, " and I imagine 
the ti'out are off on their summer vacation. " 

It was just dawning upon our comprehension that the 
landlord of a forest hotel, however clever a fellow, was not 
likely to voluntarily recommend fishing resorts much beyond 



90 THE ST. REGIS AND SAEANACS. 

the sound of his diiiuer-horu ; so I interjected the query, 
" How is tisliing down at Paul Smith's ? " 

" Oh, Avell, " answered Fuller, doubtless anticipatin,^' the 
next question would relate to modes of conveyance, "you 
don't need to go there for trout. Osgood Pond, this side of 
Paul's, is better than anything he can show you, and you 
can make a day's journey there from here and get all the 
trout you want. Start early in the morning, boat it up the 
inlet, take your baskets full of trout, and come back. " 

And we went to bed on that programnu". 

The next morning we were up bright and early, and bus- 
tled around as if there was a twelve o'clock edition of an 
afternoon paper to get out, or an important lawsuit to be 
called at the opening of court. But, for reasons not then 
quite apparent to us, nobody else hurried; our landlord was 
easy and quiet; our guides found a world of important 
affairs to attend to before starting; and the nu)rning was 
well advanced before we four and our boatmen were off 
and away to Osgood Pond. 

Our little flotilla moved gail}^ down the lake. The strong- 
armed oarsmen, witli well-seasoned backs, swe])t the wave- 
lets with even strokes, and thescnsation of deliciouscomfort 
and ease we experienced, as we were borne alojig without 
effort over the li(|uid surface, was something to remember. 
TheCaslleof Indolencehas notliing toetpialit initsentirely 
respecta))le and righteous la/Jness. 

At the iidet— the river from Osgood Pond — we entered 
upon a sluggish, winding, alder fringed stream, which, for 
utter silence, weird loneliness and an interest all its own, 



UP THE INLET. — NAUGHTY GUIDES. 91 

could not be surpassed. So]nel)ody suggested fishing, — 
and nobody objecting, four rods were jointed and rigged, 
and four leaders with their delicate flies were launched 
forth. 

Tiien on we went, and on, with logs here and there disput- 
ing our passage, until dinner time, when we landed at "Hog's 
Back, "near McColhun's clearing, where a little cool stream 
comes into the main river. We l)uilt a th'e, roasted the ti'out 
we had taken, opened our baskets and feasted in a rudimen- 
tary way with tlie woodsman's keen appetite and zest. 
Again we proceeded on our way up stream, the crooked- 
ness and the snags and logs increasing every moment. It 
was all so strange and primitively wild that the difficulties 
of our progress were scarcely observed but to be enjoyed, 
and we were unconscious that the day was declining and 
that it was impossible for us to reach Osgood Pond before 
nightfall. Our most excellent hypocrites, the hotel guides, 
knew that before we started, but we had been left in bliss- 
ful ignorance. 

A thunderstorm broke upon us. We drew our boats up 
on the shore and sought the shelter of the trees. At first 
thej^ protected us admirabl}^ but after a time the leaks in 
the leaf}" roofs became uncomfortably numerous. Starting 
a "smudge," we made ourselves as jolly as possible, and 
speedily the storm, after the fashion in the Adirondacks, 
passed along. 

And now we discovered, upon consulting our guides and 
our watches, the ignominious fact that Osgood Pond was 
out of the question. AYhen we came to know good and 



92 THE ST. EEGIS AND SAEANACS. 

evil, there was suppressed wrath in our hearts. We were 
victims, — we had been duped, — we Avere long-eared ani- 
mals. But we had enough sense left to order a retreat, 
and returned to the house as rapidly as possible — our guides 
displaying a master}'^ of the art of rowing, on our return, 
which, with excessive modesty on their part, had l)een 
concealed from us until then. 

This honest tale of fisherman's luck is told for llie sake of 
the dual moral which it conveys, — namely, as a rule, don't 
trust tlie word of a Boniface of the woods as to where the 
good fishing is, if it happens to be beyond the range of his 
dinner-horn, and dont em])lo3' a "hotel guide " if you can 
help it. The " independent guides " have a reputation to 
make and keep, and their emplo3"ment depends upon that; 
but a man paid 1)}" a hotel keeper so much for the season, 
prefers whittling under the wood-shed to rowing and rough- 
ing it, for the same money. 

Our two New York friends had enough of that sort of 
delusion, and departed in high dudgeon the next morning 
for Paul Smith's. The Editor and I remained, resolved, in 
spite of our chagrin and disgust, to (est still further the 
possibilities of the fishing, and to enjoy at least the charm- 
ing scenery. 



(H AFTER IX. 

A few clays after, taking two of the best guides, " Chris." 
and Halsey, we made an expedition down the outlet to the 
Still-water. Providing ourselves with two daj's' provisions, 
guns and fishing tackle, we set forth with a faith and ex- 
pectancy quite childlike in its simplicity, considering our 
recent experience. 

Rowing down the outlet to the I'apids we left our boats, 
shouldered our packs, and made the carry of a mile and a 
half or more below the rapids, where we found two other 
boats which we speedily converted to our own use. We 
had reached the Still-water, which extends (Avith the 
exception of one-fourth of a mile of rapids) six or seven 
miles, and into which flow many small, cold streams. At 
the mouths of these the trout congregate in the mouths of 
Jidy and August, when they greedily take the fly. AVe 
had come upon a charming region. Our descent down the 
river on that quiet, peaceful July day revealed to us the 
true beauties of the Adirondacks. Success rewarded our 
fishing, and many a hungry trout leaped up to our flies as 
they hovered an instant and then settled upon the water 
where the cool brooks entered the main stream. One hardlj" 
knew which delight to choose — the gaze upon the winding 
river and forest shores, or the skillful cast, and the leap, 
play and capture of the gamy trout. To tell the truth, we 



94 THE ST. TIEGIS AND SAKANACS. 

chose botli, and witli siioh al)sorbing interest that it was 
well into the afternoon before we songht a mossy bank, 
under shady trees, by a cool spring, and dined. 

The guides respected our hunger, and the beautiful trout 
curled and browned before the fire until they were food fit 
for a Roman Emperor. A spring bubl)led at our feet, the 
merciful snuidge s1;irtled and awed the vengefijl, winged 
hosts that gathered to dine on us, we ate our fill, and then 
the aroma of the pii)e, — the hunter's solace and tlie fisher- 
man's comfort, — mingled its fragrance with, the breath of 
spruce and balsam and the moss}' bank on which we 
reclined. There are days, — and there are days. This was 
of the sort to be looked forward to, enjoyed like choicest 
friendship, and remembered like strains of music that go to 
the heart. 

Again we were on the water,, tloatiug down the river and 
enticing the river's game as before. The evening approach- 
ed. The guides took one of the boats and went a little way 
up-stream to build a camp for the night, leaving us in the 
other boat to fish at our leisure. Suddenly the sky dark- 
ened, and we discovered the approach of a thun'der-storm, 
black and savage. We hastened up the river to find ovn- 
camp, and in a little bay, or inlet, saw the boat of our 
guides, pulled our own on shore, turned it over, and 
bestowed our luggage under it to keep it dry. 

Drawing on our rubber coats, just as the big rain-drops 
began to descend, we hurried up to the thick growth of 
small spruces, where our guides were working with might 
and main to build a brush camp. The rain came down in 



STILL-WATER. — A FLOODED CAMP. 95 

sheets, in torrents, in floods, — descended without method, 
— deluged US; while we for a time sought protection under 
the dripping branches of our half-completed shelter. The 
trees trickled and then poured water and were full of show- 
ers ; the moss under our feet was like a saturated sponge, 
oozy wet; there was not a dry stick or limb for a tire, — not 
even the lee-side of a big tree for shelter, — " water, water, 
everywiiere, " and not the slightest susiiicion that there 
would ever again be a dry place in tiiat region. We stood 
about in our slouched hats and rul)ber coats, as helpless, 
bedraggled and dispirited as ever did a conununity ol" barn- 
yard fowls in an autunmal rain. 

The night was near at hand. The pre-sing questions 
were: when Avill this flood cease? where shall we sleep and 
what shall be our bed? how shall we kindle a fire in this 
drowned and water-soaked forest ? 

The Editor is a man of keen pei-ceptious and quick deci- 
sion. After a word witli me, he said: 

" Bo3's, how far is if to Fullei'sV" 

"Ten miles — rapids, carries and all. 

" Going to rain all night V " 

" Guess so. " 

"Can you take us through and home in the dark y" 

"That we can;" — and it was Chris. Crandall who s[)oke, 
the most noted guide of the region, — t;dl, bony, shaggy, 
o iie-lff/^/r (I and ns'inix a crutch and cane, rude and rough, 
but with a C(mimanding intellect that made him the favor- 
ite hunter and guide of all that i)art of the wilderness, and- 
his word law with all his associates. 



96 THE ST. REGIS AND SARANACS. 

"Then we'll go; " — and in the pouring rain we stowed 
our luggage and ourselves into the boats, and started on our 
toilsome way up-stream in search of a roof and a dry bed. 
Still the rain poured, as we proceeded up the river to the 
rapids, down which we had bumped and thumped, Init 
up which there was to be some vigorous tugging. 

The Editor has a manly form that holds a wagon-seat 
down lirmly, ballasts a boat satisfactorily, and affords an 
exhaustive test of the honest materials and workmanship 
of Fairbanks' scales. It accorded witli the fitness of things 
that on this occasion Chris., into whose two arms had gone 
the strength of the lost leg, should be his oarsman, while 
the tough, wiry little Halsey should row his slim and thin 
companion. But at the rapids, Chris, was at a disadvantage. 
He could tramp through tlie forest with the best of us. He 
could carry a small pack on his back. He could leap a log 
with his crutch and cane and one leg where our two legs 
faltered, — but he couldn't wade up rapids among the rocks 
and swirls, in a thunder-storm, and at the same time drag a 
l)oat behind him. 

The Editor could, and he did. Ensconced in a huge, 
black rubber coat and under a broad-brimmed, sloiich-hat, 
he preserved a semblance of dryness and comfort in the 
upper story, but the basement was hopelessly damp. With 
a ropc! over his shoulder he did good mule-power work at 
towing the boat, as he picked his way among the hidden 
rocks, and splashed and pitched and stumbled his devious 
coiu'se up the rapids, — following, it is true, the lead of 
Chris., who forged ahead like a locomotive under full 



UP THE RAPIDS. — THE EDITOR. — CIIRFS.'s JOKES. 97 

steam. Meainvhile. the slim passenger was reaping the 
benefit of thinness and conservative avoirdupois; for Hal - 
sey insisted on seating him on the higgage in the middle of 
the boat, "to keep it dr}'" he said, Avhile he, the kind-hearted 
little fellow, pushed and pulled the boat up-stream. How- 
ever, the situation was onl}' moistlj^ satisfactory, for the 
rain let down fearfully, but didn't let up a bit. 

The Editor, half the time up to his knees in the water 
beneath, while the waters above poured in stretuns from 
hat and coat, looked back appreciatively upon the triumphal 
progress T was making; — and 1 saw through the rain, by 
the humor in his vye and the comed^y all o\'er his face, that 
he fully comprehended both the hiuiiidity and the humor of 
the situation 

And Chris., — it Avas rough coined)' for his one leg and 
crutch and cane. He couldn't even contemplate the satis- 
faction there would be in telling the story of this tramp up 
the rapids, — it Avould be such an old storj'. Yet he could 
joke, even in the river, among the rocks and pouring rain, 
— but such jokes! They were Titanic, — belching like a 
volcano, — the thumps of Thor's hammer, — thunderous,— 
and I am sorry to say, in connection with this sweet picture, 
profane as the Devil — or Prometheus, if he sAvore. It Avas 
apparent that Chris., after all, jireferred (by land for his 
one leg to tramp on, and that it Avas not so much consola- 
tion as the mathematics of the ca.se Avould suggest, that in 
Avading he only Avet one foot while other men must Avet 
two. 

But it was over at last, — this passage up the rapids, — and 



98 THE ST. REOTS AND SARANACS. 

we swimg along- up the Still- Water agaiu, by legitimate 
methods of water-travel, content, even, to let it rain, if we 
could only have tlie water smootli ns well as wet. 

As we proceeded, my boat l)eing in advance, we saw a 
deer standing, broadside towards us, in the sliallow water 
at the margin of the stream, and looking intentl}' at us. Hal- 
sey seized the gun, which lay by his side, aimed, nulled the 
trigger, and the cap(sutl"ering from the general dei)ression 
and damimess) snapped. Whereat the deer leisurely walked 
out of the stream, daintily lifting his feet out of the water 
as he went, and disappeared in the thiclc underbrush. I 
was mortilied that our apjiearance ins]>ired no more terror 
in the beast, and felt that it was not even beastly- compli- 
mentar}^ Halsey fumljled in his vest-pocket for a fresh cap, 
while the deer was walking off, l)ut was at least ludf a 
minute too late in preparing his weapon for discharge. I 
have no doubt a deer, if consulted, would reconunend all 
hunters to use a muzzle-loader. 

Scarcely fifteen minutes had elapsed before we s:nv 
another deer feeding in the water. It seemed a good day 
for deer. The rain had just ceased and the last rays of the 
setting sun were slanting up-stream. AVe were out of range, 
and Halsey leveling his gun took good aim, Avhile I, in 
a highly excited state of mind, seated in the stern of the 
boat, i>a(l(lled, pushed and somehow advanced eiglit or ten 
rods to, almost, within ten rods of the deer. He looked up, 
and, conscious I have no doubl that a dry cap had l)eeu 
put upon the gim, or perhaps imagining that oiu- generally- 
bedraggled appearance was only a blind and that we were 



A SHOT AT A BEER. " TT's MTGTITY QUEER." 99 

after all valiant and dang-erous, leisurely turned to depart. 
At that instant Halsey pulled the trigaer and the old muz- 
zle-loader roared and vollej-ed like a round half dozen 
thunder-bolts. There was a great splashing and dashing of 
water for a moment. We thought the lively animal was 
down and that all we now li:ul to do was to advance in 
good ortler and pick up our game. But as the smoke 
lifted we saw, to our dismay, the creature spring ashore 
with two or three vigorous bounds and disappear. Scarcelj'' 
had we realized what had occurred, when, a few rods 
above, this deer or another ran across the stream to the op- 
posite shore and plunged into the thicket. 

" Great guns!" said I, "Halsey, is this country' full of 
deer? " 

"Well, I can't say about that," replied he, "but I do 
think what there are of 'em are about the li^'eliest fellows I 
ever did see! Ju.st think of it, now! This old gun was 
loaded with buck-shot to kill. That chap must have got 
some of "em under his skin. I wouldn't have given ten 
cents to be insured on him — I'd 'ave bet my last dollar that 
he was mine. And to think that in less than a minute he 
or another fellow hove in sight! It's mighty queer." And 
the guide relapsed into a mournful, meditative silence. 

Chris, now approached and insisted that he had plainl}^ 
seen /the buck-shot strike tlie water, falling short of the aim, 
and that these caused the splashing and not the deer. How- 
ever, both guides went ashore and searched for l)lood, but 
it was now growing dark and if there were such traces they 
were unable to discover them. 



100 THE ST. REGIS AND SARANACS. 

The truth of history requires me to add that before we 
reached the loug cany, the Editor and Chris, saw still 
another deer, and that after we had taken our l)oats above 
the bridge and before we reached the lake, in tlie darkness, 
we drove out two more that "whistled " and tied awa3\ — 
making five or six that we saw or heard thntevening. No- 
body in the region was able to inform me whether any lone 
and solitary boatman had ever been attacked anfl trampled 
to death by these wandering herds. It is well, however, 
to go down that river well armed. 

Soon after the deer's adventure with us, (it didn't exactly 
seem to be our adventure, under the circumstances,) we 
came to a shingle-maker's deserted, little l)ark shanty. In 
the fast waning light we went ashore, and while lunching 
stretclied our weary limbs in the onlj' dr}-^ j^lace we had 
seen since the storm broke upon us. We left our bag of 
potatoes and some other provisions, for the next part}^ that 
might make an expedition here. The old woodsmen are 
accustomed to make these imi)romptu cacJux, and invariably, 
when reaching a deserted camp, hunt about to tind some- 
thing that maj' have been left bj^ any party preceding 
them. A half- peck of potatoes is always an acceptable 
"tind," and a few lemons are gratefully appreciated, while 
a piece of fat pork hid under the bark-roof is not despised. 
Genuine food in the wilderness, with the nearest provision 
store twenty miles awa^', and the stock on hand reduced to 
low ebb, is prized like water in the desert. 

When we started out for our long tramp over the carry 
it was dark on the river, but the forest was blackness itself. 



HUNTING A TRAIL IN THE DAEK. 101 

while the occasiouMlly renewed rain-fall added to the general 
unpleasantness of the situation. We pushed, as we thought, 
for the trail. After struggling through underbrush and 
fallen trees awhile Chris, hesitated, went this way and that, 
while we stood still awaiting developments. He finally 
said, •' I don't believe I know^ where that path is!" Then 
he plunged — one leg, crutch, cane and all — into the deeper 
darkness, and we followed as well as we could, looking 
hither and thither for some sign of a trail. Then we halted. 
Even the valiant and skilful old woodsman, of many years' 
experience, was evidently lost. I ventured to suggest that 
the shanty was at least dry and would make us comfort- 
able until morning. 

"I don't believe we can tind that, now," said Chris. ; 
"I'm blamed if I haven't lost all my reckoning, it's so 
confounded dark. I'll make one more trial, and if I don't 
strike the trail we'll get back to the river, somehow, and 
hunt up the shanty and wait for day-light. Just stand 
still, all of you, while I make a circuit around here. When 
I call, you answer me, so's I can tell where I'm going to." 

We stood as directed, and the veteran disappeared. For 
a time we heard him crashing through the underljrush and 
fallen liml)s, and swearing away to his heart's content, 
until he passed out of hearing. We waited several 
minutes to hear his call, but pride in his woodcraft 
restrained him, or his not altogether reverent soliloquy 
pre-occupied him. Fearing he would wander oft" beyond 
the sound of our voices, we called and called again, but no 
response came. We were really tdarmed for his safety. 



102 THE ST. EEGIS AND SARANACS. 

But finally, at a good round distance, we heard his gruff 
voice, raised to a high key, shouting, "Here's the road! 
Come over here! " We responded as quickly as we could, 
following his voice as he occasionally called, and at length 
found the trail. 

Halsey lighted up the jack, — I don't know why he didn't 
do so before, — which enahled us to see oin- path. From 
this time on, until we reached our boats, away we went, 
Chris, leading the procession and Halsey with the jack 
immediately after, at a break-neck pace. Chris, walked 
as if he had four legs, and we, with only a pair apiece, 
found difficulty in keeping up Avitli him. 

It was eleven o'clock at night when we reached the 
Meacham Lake House, — wet, pretty cold from our ride on 
the lake, thoroughly tired, — but with a dry bed to sleep in, 
and a roof to cover us — two things which sundry forest 
experiences have taught me to highly prize. There is 
glory in "roughing it," but there is a vast deal of comfort, 
when night comes, in having some place to lay your head 
where the rain comes not, and the waters do not break 
through and dampen. 

When we came to think of it by day-light, in dry 
clothes, and our joints limbered up, we rejoiced that we 
had seen Still-water, the pleasant, winding river, and the 
forest scenery, — common enough in the Adirondacks, but 
ever new and ever enticing to the lover of untamed nature. 
Not the least of its attractiveness lies in the fact that it is 
out of the 1)eaten path in the wilderness, and of the flow- 
ing tides of tourists who annually pour through the 
popular thoroughfares of the great forest, and pass by and 
leave this secluded stream to the adventurous sportsman. 



CHAPTER X. 

One day our hostess dimly saw the bottom of the tlour 
Ijarrel. Fuller's steeds, — having a vouched-for record of 
three and a hnlT miles an hour, — were harnessed up, and 
" Jimmy," the Irisii lad, was given the ribbons and a 
lengthy memorandum, with orders to proceed to JMalone 
with all dispatch that day, and to return the next witli edibles 
and edibles. The Editor, mindful of his sanctum, and with 
visions before his ej^es of the irate subscriber who should 
demand that his paper be stopped if the editors were ail 
going a-tishing, seized this opportunity and dei)arted from 
the wilderness. 

1 remained. I luid had a little controversy with my doc- 
tor who ordered me out of town and into the woods. I 
had been informed that I possessed " vocal chords, " — and 
that a month in the Adirondacks would restore their wonted, 
harmonious vibrations. If you have "vocal chords, " it is 
best to get rid of them, or, as I did, go a-fishing and forget 
them for good and all. However, as the Editor departed, 
I put on metaphorical widow's weeds for the space of an 
entire day and then warmed over my affections and fixed 
them firmly upon a younger and a handsomer, — the Young- 
Man from Brooklyn. 

The days went on with quiet lounging on the grass under 
the pine trees in front of the house, the pretty lake in full 



.104 THE ar. REGIS AND SARANACS. 

view; or, with tramps to little gems of lakes hid in the for- 
est within eas}' distance. One day we cleared a path 
through the nnderbrnsh to a bluff on the lake-shore, and on 
a mossy -grassy spot erected a tent under the trees, which 
became a great resort for the ladies and the toddling wee 
ones. There was famous rifle-shooting at sundry bottles 
put upon a stake out in the lake. A morning surprise came 
now and then, as a fat buck hung upon a limb near the 
house, the result of the night's jack-hunting. Fishing par- 
ties and tourists were coming and going, l)ringing and 
carrying out mail. A new sail-boat had to be tested. All 
together, there was a world of eujoyment of things hardly 
worthy to tell, but very delightful to do. 

There liad been, at one time, a notal)le accession to our 
numbers. The Sherilf of the count}' came, con voy ing a party 
of schoolma'ams who desired here to divert their minds 
and restore their freshness during some portion of their 
vacation. I surrendered my room to the schoolma'ams, 
and temporaril}' took another on the ground floor 
with the Sheriff as my room-mate. That personage was a 
bachelor, l)ut exceedingly thin, as if the cares of a large 
family had worn him down, or his ancestors on the May- 
flower had contracted constitutional and ineradicable 
dyspepsia on the long voyage to Plymouth Rock. He 
looked all the thinner for being very tall and having high 
cheek-bones, a long neck, and a preponderating Adam's 
apple. 

On a Sunday morning, two oi- three days after the new 
arrangement was inaugurated, when I arose, — the spirit of 



SHAVING THE SHEKTFP. 105 

civilization in me stimulated l)y the presence, in the imme- 
diate neighborhood, of the schoolma'ams, — I faithfullj^ 
applied the razor to my own not excessively rounded face. 
The Sheriff, sitting on the edge of the bed, thoughtfully 
engaged in pulling on his stockings, watched the operation 
with interest. Then I saw, by the reflection in the diminu- 
tive mirror, that he rubbed his chin and hollow cheeks 
and looked for a moment meditatively down upon the piece 
of rag-c;iri)et at his feet. 

" I wish I was shaved, " he at length said, in a melan- 
chol} tone, and added despairingly, " but 1 never shaved 
m3\self in all my life, and I don't suppose there is anybody 
here that could shave me. " 

Something in the sad face — perhaps it was its grizzliness 
— moved me, and 1 cheering]}" remarked : 

"Oh, it isn't very difficult; I think you can do it; and 
you are welcome to the use of ui}- razor, if you want to 
try. " 

" No, I never can, — I should l)e sure to cut myself all 
to pieces;" and the Sheriff sighed as he rubbed his rhin 
again, and felt that it was wholly unpresentable, and 
remembered that it was Sunday, and the schoolma'ams 
would meet him at the breakfast table. 

There was a long pause. Then he looked piteous! y up 
at me, as I was adjusting my necktie, and hesitatingly 
said : 

"If it wouldn't be asking too much, would 30U — might 
I ask you — do you suppose you could shave me ? " 

"Well, " said I, "I suppose I can try; but I'm awfully 



106 THE ST, REGIS AND SARANACS. 

afraid I'll make a l)ad jol) of it; and I mio-lit cut you hor- 
ribly. " 

With a sio'h of comminoied desperation and relief, the 
Sheriff replied : 

"If 3^ou'll try it, I'll take the risk. " 

With a face that had to be kept long-, because it twitched 
with suppressed lauohter, I proceeded to the tonsorial task. 
I planted him in a chair squarely before the window, lath- 
ered his face until the whole rugged surface looked like a 
meringue ; and girding myself for the labor not put down 
as one of the labors of Hercules, I seized his nose in the 
most approved fashion— and scraped. My victim winced. 

"Does it hurt ?" 

" Some— but go on — I can stand it. " 

I scraped again, and the blood oozed through the sallow 
skin. 

" I have to bear on, you see, " I said, " for this razor isn't 
in the best order. " 

"Go ahead! " came through the shut teeth. 

Whether the Sheriff was pale or not, I couldn't see, for 
the lather. And whether the eyes were blood-shot did not 
appear, for they were closed in determined resignation. 

I found I was in for it, and worked away with might 
and main. There were few more words,— the time for 
them was passed. I scraped again and again, and the 
blood oozed from every freshly-shaven surface. It was my 
turn to be desperate. Suppose I should utterly ruin the 
Sheri£e's face! What if I made him totally unpresentable 
for a week! This was no Jericho where he could tarry 



SHAVING THE SHERIFF. 107 

until his beard should grow, for the schoolma'ams were 
here! And then came the temptation to make a slash or 
two at the Adam's apple and end the whole business. I 
was becoming nervous, and my whole body was cpiivering 
Avitli suppressed nervous laughter. I wanted to scream and 
throw the razor out of the window, and jump" out after it. 

" For Heaven's sake, go on, get through! " groaned the 
Sheriff. 

That broke the spell, and I fell to work again with more 
coolness. I reached the hollow cheeks; I had carefully 
gone over the sliar[) chin, the long jaw-bones, and high 
cheek-bones, — leaving my "mark," it is true, here and 
there well cut in, — with tolerable success, from my point of 
view, and considering my education and opportunities in 
the businesss. But now I had come to the most critical 
piece of work before me. How to go down into the hol- 
lows with a straight- bladed instrument witli an awkward 
handle like a razor's, nearly posed me. I meditated thrust- 
ing my fingers into the Sheriff's cheeks to plump tlieiu out, 
but was afraid he was by this time mad enough t(^ bite me, 
or that I might cut through and slash my own fingers. I 
can't to tliis day quite imagine how I accomplished it, but 
I did somehow, shave out the hollows, with only a few 
small slices being taken off on the surrounding ridges. I 
suppose in times of great excitement or danger we are ins[)ir- 
ed to our Ijest, and no subsequent effort of memory can 
recall precisely the mental processes of those moments of 
inspired activity. That is my case exactly in regard to that 
last and supreme effort in shaving the Sheriff. 



108 THE ST. REGIS AND SAEANACS. 

I finished. Applying a damp towel to the scene of my 
activities, my work in all its sciilpturescjue effects was 
revealed to my gaze. I trembled as I thought of the inevi- 
table moment when it shoidd ])v revealed by the mirror to 
the Sheriff himself. 

"There! its done, — and done just as well as I know 
liow! " said I, with a carefully tempered tone of, self- vindi- 
cation. 

"Oh!" sighed the Sheriff, as he opened his eyes, lifted 
his hand to his face, and gazed into the nnrror, — "but I 
— I thank you! " 

That was the oidy time I ever shaved a Sheriff. 



CIIAPTETJ XI. 

On the whole. Fuller's furnished a variet}' of entertain- 
ment, and was enjoyable. But the most delightful of plaees 
and the most charming of experiences become monotonous 
after a time, and, a favorable opportunity offering, one day 
I joined a party of ladies and gentlemen and departed from 
Meacham Lake to Paul Smitirs. Our flotilla of boats went 
down the lake to the rapids, we walked to the bridge, and 
there were met li}- teams sent up from Smith's. 

The ride through the woods was rather rough, but reason- 
ably comfortal)le foi- a wood's road, until we reached 
" Burnt Ground, " where the road became excellent. Here 
was a large, tree-less, stump-less section of severiU hundred 
acres, supposed to have been swept bj^ fire at some period 
long past. A feeble settlement of a dozen or fifteen fam- 
ilies maintains the struggle for existenc-e in the centre of 
this tract, the men cultivating a few acres of the sand}' soil, 
hunting, trapping and fishing, and, as occasion offers, act- 
ing as guides for sport.smen among the little lakes that lie 
in clu.sters on every side in the forest. The notal)le man 
of this out-of-the-world hamlet is A. C. McCollum. a kindly 
old gentleman who came hither from the great world out- 
side, after a succession of domestic bereavements which 
almost broke his heart, but left him even more kindly and 
ffeutle than before. Little bare-footed children were run- 



110 THE ST. REGIS AND SARANACS. 

ning about upon the stunted grass, or peering at us from 
beliind their nuxk^st motliers in the doorways, as we passed, 
Avliile the huml)le sehool-liouse gave evidence that even 
here the Anun-ican idea of education was not forgotten. 
The men looked lionest and sincere, but sad, I thought, as 
if, after all, this life of poverty' and seclusion was far from 
satisfying. 

Passing this peculiar and excei)tional feature of the wil- 
derness, we were again among the trees, climbing and 
descending hills where the forest growth was sparse, or in 
the midst of heavy timber, — sometimes crossing streams, 
and skirting lakelets and the more andjitious waters, Osgood 
Pond and Barnum's Pond. At one point we came upon a 
group of tall Norway spruces that looked like importations 
indeed. At anotlier, we passed the borders of a tamarack 
swamp, notable as the place where many a deer had been 
stealthily hunted and shot. In the sandy road-wa}' we 
saw the fresh, clear-cut tracks of a doe and hvv fawn. 

Suddenl}', among the trees appeared a telegrapli pole, 
and another, and a single wire stretclied l)etween, and we 
wheeled into a travel-worn road along which the telegrai>h 
line ran, — the most startling symbol of civilization that one 
could come ui)on in the wilderness. We followed this line 
a mile or less, and drew up in front of a spacious and im- 
posing hotel. — Paul Smith's. . Had this droj^ped, a ])alace, 
from the skies? Were we waking, or dreaming!'' Whence 
came all these fastidiousl}- dressed men and women and 
children? The entire picture presented was a marvel to one 
for many days a dweller at the quiet little log-house on 



PAUL SMITH S. Ill 

Meacliam Lake, and accustomed to eveuings at tiie rude 
guide-house. 

" Paul Smith's" is familiar to thousands of summer tour- 
ists Avho " take it in " along with Newport, Long Branch 
and Saratoga, as well as to those veterans of the angle and 
the hunt, who for many years have annually resorted liither, 
making this tlie base from which to project excursions into 
the deeper wildei'ness, there to dwell in camj) and tent and 
pursue in solitude the pleasures of the pathless woods, the 
limpid lakes and winding streams. 

The hotel stands uiion a blutf looking southward out u])on 
Lower St. Regis Lake, ueyond which lie Spitfire and 
Upper St. Regis. It is a long, four-storj^ wooden edifice, 
with a broad verandah along its entire front, and capable 
of accommodating a liimdred guests. The guide-house, on 
the shore of the lake and to the right, is a long; two-story 
frame building, used below for housing seventy-five to 
one hundred trim, light ;uul shapely boats. Above it is con- 
verted into sleeping and living rooms for the guides engaged 
by Mr. Smith for the season. A bowling-alley still further 
awa3\ and frame barns, shops and an ice-house comi)lete 
this realh' remarkable hostelry and its appurtenances. An 
excellent road, traversed daily by a stage-coach, leads out 
by way of Bloomingdale and Ausable Forks to the rail-road 
terminus at Point of Rocks, whence the tourist journe3^s 
by rail to Plattsl»urg and whither he will. Tlie "click" 
of the telegrai>h, in the hotel-ottice, assures you that you 
are no lonoer cut off from mankind, and you suddenly 



113 THE ST. REGIS AND SARANACS. 

come to realize that you may forthwith, if you will, have a 
chat with j^our wife aud babies at home. 

Somethinii' else comes to you.— knowledge of good aud 
evil — as to j^our attire. After weeks of life out of the reach 
of dail}" mails and the instantaneous telegram, you have 
become as unconscious of your outer covering as a tortoise 
is of his shell. It fit'^ and protects you, and what more is to 
be desired? The first five minutes over, at Paul Smith's, 
and in the i^rivacy of your room, you dive into j'our knap- 
sack for the fig-leaves. Alas, you have become conscious ; 
your freedom is gone; you have in elfect come back to 
town; and Tom. Dick and Harry salute you on the street, 
and you know that they know whether you are " dressed" 
or not. For the hour, the genuine, careless joy of the 
woodsman in you is dead. 

When evening comes at Paul Smith's, the long parlor is 
l)ri]liantly lighted. At the piano is seated a lady in elegant 
summer costume, and at her masterful touch the rich tones 
rise and swell and sink and die away in music. B}^ her 
side, turning the sheets, as she plays, stand men of fault- 
less attire and foreign speech. Ladies and gentlemen walk 
up and down the room, and pretty children, fastidiously 
dressed, romp and frolic with the irrepressible freedom of 
childhood. 

There are social games, sober family gatherings and flir- 
tations in the nooks and corners, and in the office letter- 
wi'iting and newspaper reading. Tlie fisheniKMi and hunt- 
ers who came in, from ever}' direction, before tea, in their 
fancy hunting costumes reappear in Scotch and broadcloth 



EVENING AT PAUL'S. 113 

and linen, only tlR'ir JMown faces revealing to you that they 
are genuine sportsmen. 

Meanwhile, the long, broad veranda is crowded willi 
easy chairs, and the fragrant Havana niingkfs its perfume 
with the aroma of balsam and spruce and pine floating ever 
in over the cooling waters of the St. Regis. Here is a knot 
of respectful and credulous listeners assembled around a 
lotund and enthusiastic Doctor of Divinity from New York, 
who is telling fishing stories that draw heavily upon tlie 
faith of his hearers, and of deer-himts in which he figured 
as the hero, out-Murraying ^furray. But it is vastly inter- 
esting, for the learned Doctor tells a story well, and you 
choose to l)elieve that In' is essentially telling tin- honest 
truth, — as his memory sees it. 

Other knots of men aie gathered all along the veranda, 
and their talk is of tlu' woods and lakes and stieanis, of 
trout and deer. 

On the grass in front, is a jolly guide playing with a lit- 
tle child, tossing it up, rolling,' it over on the turf, laughing, 
and as happy as a fond papa can be; and well he may be 
happy, for he has this evening just returned with two tour 
ists, after eleven days' absence, during which he has made 
the grand circuit to John Brown's Tract l)y one chain of 
lakes and streams, and returned by another. His wife and 
a baby, and the end of his hard trii>, have given him joy 
enough to-night to make u}) for many a backache on the 
long carries. 

At? teii o'clock every body goes to bed. It is both the 
fashion and the inclination. 



114 THE ST. REGIS AND SARANACS. " 

There was one learned old Doctor and Professor from 
New Haven who interested me very much. He" was quite 
infirm, and his son, who accompanied him, with filial devo- 
tion anticipated every want. The brave old man was out 
early every morning, and, with a guide, rowed around the 
little rocky peninsula, south easter^^ from the hotel, to the 
mouth of a cold stream that comes through the tama- 
racks into the lake not far beyond. There, at the edge of 
the lily-pads (successors of tliose noted l)y W. C. Prime in 
his delicious volume, " I Go A-Fishing, " on page 125) he 
skilfully and patiently cast his flies until he took the one 
big trout awaiting his morning call, and then returned to 
the hotel to breakfast and for the (h\r 

It was something more than a splendid trout that he 
brought to our view as we met him at the landing. The 
young heart in the old body,— the genuine enthusiasm of 
the veteran angler,— the glorification of the gentle art 
which has soothed and comforted many an aged philoso- 
pher,— all this he revealed to us, and we wanted to lift the 
grand old man to our shoulders and bear him in reverent 
triumph up the ascent. 

iVnother day, a rol)ust, handsome, middle-aged gentle- 
man, who they said was a wealthy, hard-working merchant, 
of New York City, went early in the morning, with his 
guide, to Osgood Pond. In the early evening they re- 
tui-ned, the guide bringing, literally, a big back-load of 
the finest trout I ever saw,— great, splendid fellows, all 
that the man could comfortably cai-ry. There was admira- 
tion and rejoicing on all hands, and esi)ecially, among tlie 



MATTERS AND THINGS AT PAUL'S. 115 

ladies. I was delighted that the triumph belonged to this 
splendid specimen of the robust gentleman whom I had 
admired for his manl}^ beauty and pure, good face ; and I 
put his picture by .the side of that of the young-old 
Doctor, in my memories of Paid Smith's and St. Regis. 

There is a charming ramble, out among the trees, east of 
the house, and thence all over the wooded, rock}- penin- 
sula jutting into the lake. One ma}^ sit and lounge on the 
rocks at the water's edge and look out upon the lake and 
see how prettily the l)reezes play with the wavelets; or 
gaze beyond, and watch the summit of St. Regis Moun- 
tain, noting what a world of blue there is in the atmos- 
phere when it rests upon a mountain's brow; or let the eye 
Avander far and near upon the forest, and dream and 
dream again of the procession of the centuries that have 
come and gone, while the forest, ever changing, yet 
remains ever the same. There are a hundred things one 
may do, at such a resort as Paul Smith's, besides fishing, 
that will be both delightful to the tir^d mind and delicious 
to all the senses. I confess that, while there, I enjoyed 
these un-sportsmanlike things to the utmost. 



CHAPTER XII. 

But, after a time, I lono-ed for some little, adventure. 
The life I had been leading in the woods, although easy 
and half indolent, in the main, had put vigor and health 
in my blood and frame, and I fairly ached to " let myself 
out," for once, before I should return to the work-a-day 
life that awaited me outside of the wilderness. 

The opportunity came, one morning, when a tourist and 
his guide started out upon the popular excursion to Martin's 
by way of the Saranacs. They cheei-fully consented that 
I should accompany them as far as I desired, to return 
alone wiien I should choose. Selecting a light, trim, Adi- 
rondack boat, when they set out I followed them, plying 
the oars with an ease that surprised me. The flabbiness of 
muscle belonging to the man of sedentary habits had given 
place to sinewy strength. With swinging stroke we 
crossed the lower St. Regis Lake, wound and twisted our 
way through the inlet to Spitfire Pond, and so on to and 
through Upper St. Regis, to the landing at the foot of the 
carry to Big Clear Pond. The guide, as we went along, 
pointed out various lau:l-marks by which I would be en- 
abled, on my return, to find the streams connecting the dif- 
ferent lakes,— particularly calling my attention to seven 
dead pines near the outlet of Upper St. Regis. It would 



SARANAC EXCURSION. — "SANOEMo's." 117 

seem a very easy matter to tind the outlet or inlet of a lake, 
but it is, in fact, exceedingi}^ diflicult. The hays and coves 
and points are all delusive, and the stream you seek gener- 
ally steals in or out obscurely, at some unexpected angle, 
hardly making a sign of its presence until you are right 
upon it. I had learned so much before, and now I noted 
every land-mark closely, conscious that any failure to recall 
these might result, on my. return, in an all-night's solitary, 
supperless and tentless bivouac on a mosquito-infested 
shore. 

Leaving my boat at the landing, I went over to St. 
Germain's, on Big Clear Pond, a carry of two miles over 
which the St. Grcrmain — or, "Sangemo" — boys draw boats 
and luggage on a rude sled, with a very thin horse. The 
walk is eas}^ and agreeable through the woods, and quite 
a relief after sitting long in a boat. The St. Germain 
family consists phiefl}^ of the father, a little old black-eyed, 
shock-headed, voluble Canadian-Frenchman, and his wife 
and three or four grown up boys who look as if they had 
never been quite tamed. They are great hunters, — and 
have l)een known to do close shooting, under imagined 
provocation, at something not properly coming under the 
head of game, except in a cannibal country. They had 
several lumgny and whining hounds tied and penned up, 
but no other wild animals, although a deer or a bear is 
generally among the few attractions tliey offer to strangers. 

We were met liere b}^ a party of two gentlemen and two 

handsome ladies and three or four little children, with 

their guides, who were on their way from the Saranacs to 
4 



118 THE ST. ilEGIS AND SARANACS. 

Paurs. It was a right merry party, and they laughed and 
chatted and drank St. Gei'niain's "pop-beer" with a 
charming air of confidence in its integrit}', — as deliglited 
with every tiling as if they were enjo3'ing an after-theater 
lunch at Delmonico's. The last we saw of them they were 
setting off, ladies, children and all, on their two-mile walk 
over the carry, with light, tripping steps and the merriest 
laughter, as if walking down the la\yu at home, after tea, 
for a boat ride on the river. 

This was not quite the sort of sunshine and romance 
one would be looking out for on a carry, but it is precisely 
the thing not uncommon on these forest thoroughfares 
among the St. Regis and Saranac waters, — a region which 
has charms of its own for the gentler sex and all others 
who want to see the woods and waters in their primitive 
state, with "improvements." The sportsman is crowded, 
every year, into remoter regions ; but there is room enough 
for him, and he ought not to grudge some little portion of 
his realm to beaut}^ and childhood. He must, however, 
heed the "move on," which the increasing multitudes utter 
all along his favorite haunts. If he is a seusiljle, generous 
and gentle-hearted sportsman, he will not grumble at this 
and talk of "Murray's fools," but will rejoice that it is 
possible for so manj^ to share with him the forest and its 
beuetits to health and heart. The unexplored wilderness is 
close at hand, and it is his if he will but seize it. Let the 
wife and children joiu'ney over, and enjoy, the favorite old 
ways, even if their presence frightens the deer to remoter 
regions and the trout are to be sought in more secluded 
haunts. 



UPPER SARANAC LAKE. — COX't^. 119 

After a brief rest, I procured another boat. and. still fol- 
lowing my companions, rowed through Big Clear Pond to 
the carry leading to the head of the Upper Saranac. This 
is a "draw-carry" four miles long, a solid road over which 
both boats and tourists are transported on wagons through 
the forest. Two or three houses in the midst of small clear- 
ings are on the shore, and l>y dint of loud hallooing on the 
part of the guide, before we reached land, we called a man 
and team to the landing. Again I left my boat, while my 
companions had theirs loaded upon the wagon, and we all 
got aboard and proceeded in great state and comfort to the 
hotel at the head of the Upper Saranac Lake, where we 
arrived at noon. 

" Cox's " is a two-story, frame house, much less pretenti 
ous than Paul Smith's, capable, however, of accommodat- 
ing sixty guests, which it did the night before our arrival. 
It is situated in a cleared, grass-grown space, of several 
acres, — a high and dry, sandy plateau, at least fifteen feet 
above the level of the lake. The southerly view from the 
verandah, upon the lake and mountains, south and east, is 
very fine and impressive, and is deservedly noted. White 
Face ^Mountain can be seen distinclly, and Mt. Marcy is 
brought into view" by going down the lake a little distance. 
The lake is one of the largest in the wilderness. 

The junior partner of the firm of Cox <Sz Lewis, then con- 
ducting the hotel, very kindly rowed me down the lake 
several miles, before dinner, and I returned to the hotel 
with the impression that I had l)een shown one of the 
grandest parts of the water system of the Adirondacks. 



120 THE ST. REGIS AND SAKANACS. 

The mountain region must always 1)ear off the heroic hon- 
ors, but the Upper Saranac, in my opinion, contends with 
the Raquette for tlie milder supremacy of l)eauty and 
grandeur combined. 

At dinner, I sat near a husband and wife,— the husband, 
an invalid who came too late to the health giving forest. 
He was as brown as sun and wind could make one, — the 
result of many wrecks of out-door life,— ^but so thin and 
weak that the complexion of heahh was a wretched satire 
and mockery. Ilis wife was as tender and solicitous as if 
he had been hei- infant child; but he answered her inquir- 
ies in a hollow voice that was startling and painful to hear. 
He leaned his head on his hand and his elbow on the table 
and pushed aside his plate of food, imable to eat, with a 
look of despair on his face, as if, at last, he had given up 
his brave, long fight for life and had resolved to struggle 
no longer. He w^as a stranger, — I saw him only a few min- 
utes, — but I have imagined a hundred times the sorrowful 
details of his summer's endeavoi- to arrest the progress of 
insidious disease, and wondered, and wondered again, if 
he lived to reach his home, and if he died with his family 
at his bed-side. This man's hollow, sun-browned face and 
despairing look, and his wife's anxious brow were the sad- 
dest sight I ever happened upon in the wilderness. 

The cloud of the Saranac Hotel was obscuring the sun- 
shine of the scene at St. Germain's Carry; and I finished 
my dinner as speedily as my appetite and good manners 
would permit, and joined more joyous society on the lawn 
in front of the house. That sorrow was not my burden" to 
bear. 



TIME RECORD. — TAT.K AND TOBACCO. 12l 

My return to Paul Smith's, alone, that afternoon, secured 
to nie a " time record " which gave me a day's distinction, 
and which, I presume, " Charky " Martin, Paul's brother- 
in-law and chief manager and useful man in general, 
rememl jers to this day ; and I expect him to vouch for it. 

I left the Saranac House at three o'clock, walked the four- 
mile carry in tift3'-seven minutes; rowed through a heavy 
sea across Big Clear Pond, about four miles, in thirty-tive 
minutes: then rested, at St. Germain's, twenty-tive min- 
utes; walked the two-mile carry in half an hour, and rowed 
through Upper St. Regis, and the connecting streams, four 
miles, in forty minutes, to Paul Smith's, — and that evening 
walked the verandah half an ho.ur, with a friend I found 
there, for exercise! Thanks to the woods for that I 

I think my story staggered some of the guides, but 
"Charley," whose guest I was, believed it — at least, he did 
not venture anything to the contrary. I here re-atfirm it, 
— and appeal to the country ! 

My halt at St. Germain's gave me an opportunity to 
interview the old Frenchman. I opened his heart with a 
liberal portion of the contents of ni}^ tobaco-pouch, and 
with a dime or two unlocked — what I found still more com- 
forting — his wife's pantry, whence she produced very 
respectable doughnuts and cheese. The^ old man and I 
smoked together, some time, and he talked volubly; but, 
for the life of me, I could understand only a few of his 
words, although I caught their woodsy and fishy spirit well 
enough. The half -tamed boys were conquered by the same 
means, and congratulated me on my successful vo3'age 



122 THE ST. REGIS AND 8ARANACS. 

tlirougli the rough sea of Big- Clear; — but the genuineness of 
their wonder at and admiration of my exploit ma}' have 
been established by my prompt and liberal payment for the 
use of their boat brought safe to the landing. If I had been 
drowned, I should have been more troublesome and less 
profitable to them. 

At the other end of the carry from St. ({ermain's, I 
eucovmtered a party of Harvard College boys (jn 'their way to 
Long Lake. They were without guides, and carried their 
boats and luggage and cooking utensils on their backs and 
shoulders, after the fashion of men trained in the woods 
rather than on a college campus. They were in fine spirits, 
but were anticipating a long pull and hard work before 
the}' should reach their camp, where they were to be met 
by companions who had preceeded tliem. 

The next day I found myself none the worse for my trip 
to the L'lDpei' Saranac, and planned to make the ascent of 
St. Regis Mountain ; but the atmosphere was very suKjk}'. 
and I abandoned the project. This is one of the expedi- 
tions every man and every strong-minded and limbed lady 
at Paul Smith's is expected to make. A fat gi-ntleman, 
who sat next to me at the breakfast table, had made it the 
day before. He had forgotten to carry up Avith him a 1)ot- 
tle of water, an^ had suffered almost intoleraljly from 
thirst. The climbing up the rocks, moreover, had bruised 
and fatigued- him greatly; and he declared with spirited 
emphasis that the whole thing wa« a "horrible jol)," and he 
wouldn't repeat it if you would give him all the mountains 
you could see from the top of St. Regis. 



PICTURES. — THE REVEREND. 123 

One of the prettiest pictures seen at Paul Smith's is 
when, after sunset, a dozen or a score of boats tilled with 
ladies; and children, pu^h out upon the lake, — each boat 
gracefully rowed bj' a strong oarsman who knows how to 
row a genuine Adirondack boat with swiftness, and 
handle it with safety. Indeed, the commingling there of 
gayety and sohi-i,.'ty. fashion and simplicity, sportsman's 
life auil social life, excites constant interest in the mind of 
a " lo3ker-on in Venice " as I was. It is not what one goes 
to the wilderness for, but for all that it is delightfnl to see 
all these people so happy in the woods, and especially the 
little folks. 

Ha/ing, at length, lingered and lounged and dreamed 
away my allotted timj at this famous resort, I sought an 
opportunity to retrace my steps to Meacham, and thence 
out, to Malone and home. It came, one deliciously fresh 
and dewy marai ng; and, with their cheerful assent, I 
joined a party of sportsmen and their guides, going to 
JMeacha.n outlet to camp —the "Still-water" wh.'i'e the Editor 
and I experienced the earlier sensations of the victims of 
the Deluge. 

The luggage was dei)osited in a big, strong, lumber 
wagon, provided with a rack upon which were placed two 
boats, side-by-side and bottom upwards. On these we sat, 
while the road was good, but found much comfort, at times, 
in walking. One of the gentlenien was a young Keverend, 
who had conscientiously saved a hundred dollars from his 
meager salary as a pastor, for a month in the woods. He 
loved the wilderness, its mountains, lakes and streams, 



124 THE ST. REGIS AND SARANACS. 

with an ardent devotion, and was as genial, robust and 
gentle as becomes a true disciple of the rod. He fondled 
liis rifle as if that, too, was a part of his dreaming while he 
Avas saving his hundred dollars. I did not doubt that he 
preached and taught all the more wisely for his accustomed 
month with nature and the benignant lessons she teaches 
her true votaries. His companion was an incipient Yale 
Freshman, to whose youthful spirits the air of 'the woods 
was like wine, without tlie headache. 

Our ways diverged at McC'ollum's, at Burnt Ground, and 
I parted with my companions, with a powerful yearn- 
ing to accompany them to camp and enjoy with them 
what they had in store. It was here and now tliat 1 made 
the acquaintance of McCollum and learned, from his lips, 
his sad histoiy of the (h^mestie sorrow which brought him 
hither. Yet he was .so strong and gentle, so manl3Mn every 
sense, that I felt I was in the presence of one who had in- 
deed learned to "suffer and be strong." 

He sent me with Ids horses and drivei' to the Meacham 
Lake House, whither we drove, at a bretdi-neck speed, 
over rocks and stumps and roots, while 1 held to my seat 
in momentary expectation of a general smash as complete, 
to all intents and purposes, as a rail-road collision. But 
horses and wagons, in the woods, all seem to be made upon 
honor, and we wenttlirough to our destination with nothing- 
worse than a terrible shaking-up. 

The out-going i)arty which I had iioped to intercept, had 
gone. However, on the following day, 1 caught a ride to 
" Woodford's" — an old sportsmen's hotel in the borders of 



GAS LIGHT. — PAVEMENTS. — OUT. 125 

the forest — where I jjroeured a horse and wagon, and 
reached Malone . in the evening. The gas-lights in the 
streets w^ere burning, the solid pavements w^ere under niy 
feet, — and I, loyally as I love the woods, must admit that, 
after my lengthy sojourn in the wilderness, these, and the 
rows of blocks and solid buildings, gave me great satisfaction 
and a new appreciation of tlie comforts and pleasures of 
the works of man. 

The next morning came in holiday attire. I met it half 
way, by discarding every vestige of my clothing worn in 
the woods, with its smell of smoke and tar-oil, found a 
barber, and felt that my wanderings in the forests for that 
summer were ended. I was again in the land of time- 
tables and rail-roads; and when my train moved into the 
station, with alacrity I ol)eyedthe summons, " All al)oard!" 
and was speedily whii'led away towards Inmie ! 



THE BEAVER RIVER WATERS. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

It was the May Term of Court. There was a hill in 
the proceedings, and tlie Jiidg-e slightl}-^ beckoning, 1 
approached the bencii. 

'"When are 3^ou going to tlie woods?" said he, unbend- 
ing the awful brow of Justice, and with just tlie least un- 
judicial twinkle in his eye. 

" I am thinking of taking in the Spring fishing, this year. 
Judge, up in the Beaver River country. " 

"Is your part}'^ made up ? " 

" Well, the Editor of the Diurnal is going, for one. He 
was sucli a ' hail fellow well met' last year that I was bound 
to have him with me this year. And the Manager of the 
Daily Flag Staff is going, so as to keep up the equipoise. 
There's room for one more. A quartette is as essential in 
the woods as iu an organ-loft. 

"They're both good fellows, "his Honor added. 

" If you'll enlist in this company, Judge, as a high-pri- 
vate, I'll stipulate that you shall have a good time, — 
weather and trout permitting. " 

"I'll go! " said the Judge, after a moment's reflection ; — 
"Clerk, call a jury in No. 48. " 

In due time the Term ended, the necessary preliminaries 
were completed, and one afternoon, late in May, found 



130 THK bp:aver rtvee watehs. 

us four at Utica waiting for tlic five o'clocli train on the 
Black River Rail-Road. 

That road is associated in mau}^ minds with the opening- 
scenes of the delighf ul vacation months. When the summer 
days come, and one has a fish-rod in his hands, then "Black 
River Rail-Road " is a phrase to conjure with. The brain 
of the hajipy sportsman, at the sovmd of these n^agic words, 
is filled with pictures of camp and stream and lake; for 
this road, for many miles, skirts the wilderness, and almost 
ever}' station is the gateway to Paradise. 

"Trenton!" shouts the hrakeman ; and Ihe passengei- 
drops his paper, eagerl}' gazes out of the window, vainly 
striving to gain a single glimpse of the romantic and pictur- 
esque Trenton Falls. 

At "Prospect" he remembers that here he may leave the 
train and find his way to Jock's Lake, or West (Auiada 
Creek, or, still further away, to Piseco and Pleasant Lakes, 
where, in olden times there has been untold s])ort. 

At "Alder Creek" he is reminded of Woodludl, the 
Bisby Lakes, and Canachagala. with the famous Canacha- 
gala "spring-hole " l)eyon(l. 

Then come " Booneville " and "Port Ley den, " both 
entrances to the Moose River waters, — the Fulton Chain 
with its eight glittering lakes; the Brown Tract Lilet and 
the noble Raquette Lake be3^ond, easily accessil)le. 

The traveler reaches " Mart insburgh " and "Lowville; 
and " No. 4, " the Beaver River Countiy, with the Tupper 
Lakes beyond, will inevitably come to mind, for these 
stations are the points of entrance to those localities. 



BLACK ErVTER RAILROAD. — FENTON's. 131 

And by conuectiug rail-roads oue oiay, indeed, SAveep 
northward, eastward and southward again, pretty much 
around the entire xVdirouchielvs ; and almost every station is 
■' the best place, " if we have faith in the local opinion, at 
which to enter the wilderness. 

I trust, then, that the ties of that road may never decay, 
and its rails never Avear out, and that it may always pay 
good dividends, for it is, par e.vcdknce, the highway to the 
gates of the Sportsman's Paradise. 

The bags and bundles were, at length, ;tll on board our 
train, our rods and guns carefully set up in the cor- 
ners we appropriated Avithout protest, — for again Avas the 
fishing rod a passport, — and we Avere hurried away, after a 
moderate fashion, nortliAvard. At Martiusburgh, Lewis 
met us and transported us to his hotel at Beach's Bridge. 
We were actually again on the Avay to the woods, and it 
Avas with ill-concealed impatience that Ave spent the hour 
of daylight that remained. A proposition to go up a little 
stream, in the evening, to catch suckers in a net, Avas half- 
complacently entertained, butoui" finer sportsman's instincts 
prevailed, and Ave Avent to bed instead. 

With the early morning Ave Avere off for Fenton's — ''No. 
4,". — sixteen miles distant. Five miles from Fenton's Ave 
struck solid forest, our fair road disappeared, and there 
Avas tramping to l)e done. The guns were brought into 
requisition, and a pigeon steAv for dinner fell to our aim. 
We arrived at Fenton's a little before noon. 

' ' No. 4 " is simply the number of the township ; but that 
name abides although "men may come and men may go," 



132 THE BEAVER BIVER WATERS. 

and new landlords ]>reside at the hotel long known as 
"Fenton's. " 

There is a large ck^aring, of several hundred aeres, on 
the south side of Beaver Lake, now rapidly returning, for 
the most part, to a state of natm-e, where a little group of 
families tind a home and employment in a shabby sort of 
farming, but principally in liunting, trapping ;rtnd acting 
as guides. Old C'haimcey Smith, the famous hunter of 
the region, now nearly eighty years of age, lives here, still 
feebly following his vocation, but happiest when describ- 
ing the scenes and relating the exploits of his past life. 

Fenton himself is a famous hunter, and is. in his way 
and ])lace, a notable and su[)erior man. Tiiose who have 
made his house their home, for weeks and months, come to 
entertain feelings of warm friendship toward him. It is 
fortunate, indeed, that in so many instances, the proprie- 
tors of these forest hostelries are men of character and gen- 
uine refinement beneath the homes|mu garb and plain 
exterior. This fact makes it doubly agreeable and wholly 
feasible for entire families to enjoy, together, in the wilder- 
ness, a summer vacation which bi-ings health and vigor and 
a knowledge of nature that mingles well with high attain- 
ments and culture and "exalted privileges" during the 
remainder of the year. 

From Fenton's hotel, you look off to the north, down 
upon Beaver Lake, and across upon heavy forests climljing 
up the hills that help to form the basin within which the 
lake lies embowT'red. A w^alk of a few moments doAvn the 
easy path brings you to the lake itself, where boats aw^ait 
the use of all guests. 



BEAVER LAKE AND RIVEIi. 133 

Beaver Kiver enters the lake by a succession of rapids 
and falls, which extend by a winding way a dozen miles 
up to Wardwcll's, (now Dunbar's,) or Still-water. It knives 
tlie lake in rapids again, and plunges over pictiu-esque falls, 
to which the guests of the house make excursions with 
never-failing interest and delight. 

At such a resort, the trout are always hunted and chased 
like a tleeing criminal, but they learii by experience great 
wisdom and discretion and t(\Mch it to their children; so 
that, pursued as they are, they maintaiji an existence in 
fair numbers, and, to a reasonable degree, reward the 
skillful lisherman. However, tliey seldom leap through the 
air, straight at the successful sportsman, like Murra^y's 
ferocious trout, nor attempt that other exi)edient of whirl- 
ing 'round and 'i-ound the l)oat in a contracting ciix'le, in 
an effort to twist the tishermairs head off, as Warner felici- 
tously and veraciously relates. 

We enjoyed an afteiMioon's excursion down the lake to 
the outlet. The water w as high and swift, and the Editor 
had an adventui-e — his boat striking upon a hidden rock — 
which for a half minute looked entirely unpropitious. It 
is his luck, however, to always get out of a difficulty in 
some way, and he still lives, — like the gentleman of color 
who remarked, with the Avisdom of exiu'rience weighting 
every word, that he always noticed that if he lived ])y the 
fourth of July, he lived all the rest of the year! 

We also, that evening, engaged four guides, procured 
supplies, and supplemented our outtit for oui' projected 
trip to and camping at Smith's Lake, forty-eight miles 



1^4 THE BEAYER KIVEll WATERS. 

further into the Avihlerness. In the reprehensible drawing- of 
h>ts for guides (the "reprehensible " being in the result) I 
drew John, "tlie Talker." But I forecast my calamity. I 
was then in blissful ignorance of wliat fnte had awarded 
me, and will not now antieipale. 

At four o'clock in ihc morning, we wei-e up and away, 
on foot, followed bv a te:im of horses conveying our bag- 
gage,— on our way tlirougli the l\>rest, over a horrid road 
to " Still-water," or Wardwell's, eleven miles distant. One 
ordinarily likes better to read of the glories of an early, sum- 
mer morning, than to actually get up and learn of its 
exalted beauty experimentally. But if there is ever an 
unfeigned joy, it is when one ' ' going in, " at the beginning of 
his vacation, sets out upon a w:dk througli the genuine, uu- 
qualilied forest, on such a l»right, fresh, dewy morning as 
was vouchsafed to us. If Fenton's boarders had been 
awake, they would have witnessed certain caperings and 
saltations, on the part of our dignified company, during the 
brief delay before we llnally set out, that would have 
entirely convinced tiicm that something besides the wine of 
the air had been iml)ibed. Men off in the woods are, after 
all, only boys, of a larger growth, let out of school. 

AVe took lunch in our p'ockcts, not waiting for breakfast, 
and after an hour or two, finding a mossy bank by a little 
stream that had wandered but a few stei)s from the spring 
where it was born, we spread ourselves around, in a free- 
and-easy and miscellaneous way, and i-eslored the waning 
freshness of our spirits with hard boiled eggs, sandwiches, 
and cold water. Then on again we went, up hill and down, 



wakdwell's. — "when i git time." 135 

skirtiug the mud-holes, crossiui;- the small streams, after 
the usual fashiou on a wild-woods road, until, at the end of 
four hours we reached Wardwell's. 

The little log-house on the bluff looked out upon a bay, 
where the river rests before- undertaking its rugged descent 
to Beaver Lake, while Twitchell creek comes in at the 
right, contributing the water of Twitchell Lake, famous 
for I rout and deer. This seems to be an admirnble point 
at wliich to st()[), making it a base from which to go daily 
to many good tishing resorts. But it is "the last house," 
and few are content to remain here, while the lakes and 
streams I)eyond are so enticing. We had large and ilelicious 
trout for our combined breakfast and dinner, but to our 
queries as to where they camo from, AY:ird well's indefinite 
reply was, "Oh, we git 'em (h)wn in the basin," — but he 
didn't. It is a point of honor with the keejier of that house, 
whoever he happens to "be, never to tell the passer-b}" of 
the half (h^zen or so excellent fishing places, not an* liour's 
walk distant; and he is a lucky fellow wlio learns of them, 
even if he remains there for daj^s together. 

Wardwell, himself, is a character, and a greater curiosit}^ 
than anything he can exhibit to the toiu'ist. He gets out 
his old rifle to show with what he has slain countless deer 
and knocked over now and then a "painter." But one of 
tlie sights is loose and is tied on with a leather string. 

" Why don't you fix that sight, Wardwell?" 

" Waal," in a long drawl, " I've been thinking on't, and 
some day when I git time I guess I'll have to go at it." 

" Time? Don't you have time enough up here?" 



136 THE BEAYEK ETA'EK WATERS, 

"Waal, I g-iiess I dew. but I don't git at it." 

The roof of his little log-barn had tumbled in. 

" What's the matter with 3'our roof, AVardwell ? " 

" Waal, last winter the snow was oneonimon heavy and 
broke it down." 

" Why don't you repair it ? " was asked, with a sly wink 
all around. 

"Waal, I guess I'll have to git at it sometime — wlien I 
git time." 

And so the imiu'rturl)ab]e old man, driven to death in 
doing notliing, answered all the sly ((uizzing with a like 
response. Poor old fellow, his wife went craz}- after that, 
and he removed down to Fenton's, where he will build a 
hotel if he ever "gits time." He is sueeeeded at Still-water 
by Dunbar, who is said to be a "s([uare," live man. 

There was a lively little philosophieal discussion among us, 
who counted ourselves as prett}' busy men at home, whether, 
on the wiiole, Wardweil's way of taking the worries and 
cares of life was not, after all that could be said to the 
contrary, about as wise as the op})osite extreme. However, 
I think the enforced delay in our departure from his house 
gave the vastly preponderating majority of our party a bias 
against Wardweil's mode of doing business. 

Beaver River, above Wardweil's to Alban3^ Lake, is 
principally still-water. That usually means crookedness. 
When a river is not in a hurry, it wanders all about the 
country in a dazed, aimless \va3^ as if it had lost sight of 
the principle of gravitation, and didn't know enough to run 
anywhere if there is no hill to run down. Beaver River, 



A CROOKED BHER AND DIZZY SUN. 137 

at any rate, seems to be greatly confused, seeking now this 
side, and then that, of the l)road valley through which it 
winds, doubling back upon itself at almost every turn as if 
to see if the rest of the water was coming along all right. 
If there is one thing it fully imderstands, it is the principle 
of the loop, in all its possible variety. It makes more dis- 
tance in a shorter direct advance than any other stream I 
know of. Of course, it takes a good deal of time for a 
river to do any business in this way; and it was unani 
mously voted that Beaver River was either the progenitor 
of Wardwell, or that Wardwell was at least the god-father 
of the river. We never could quite settle that little ques- 
tion — we didn't "git time." 

We slowly and surely wound our way up the river, 
crooked as it is, regardless of the tickle sun which shone 
now in our faces, next on our backs, and, again, impartially 
burning one ear and then the other — the worst intoxicated 
and most reckless sun that ever shone; or, was it dizzy 
from trying to Avatch the turns of Beaver River? 

At five o'clock we were hungry again, and landed on a 
point of hard land, for supper. So were and did thebl. ck 
flies. We supposed when we left home that we were nicely 
and in a soldierly manner stealing a march on this enemy, 
and overwhelming him with the almanac. He was not 
due so early according to the entomological time-table, but 
he came, nevertheless— some millions of him. We disputed 
our coffee and hard-tack with him at " Black Fly Point " — 
a name born of our anguish — and then hastened on, eager 
to find a rest for the weary where the wicked fly would 



138 THE BEAVER RIYER WATERS. 

cease from troubling. The niglit was settling down upon 
us as we reached South Branch, and we puslied up that 
stream, a short distance, and made eamp. AVliile the 
guides were constructing a " bower of boughs " we cast our 
flies among the leaping trout, at the landing, and took a 
gootl munl)er, but they were small. 

As the darkness closed in upon us and we gathered before 
the rousing fire, and stretched our weary limbs upon our 
couch of fresh and fragi-ant hcndock boughs, we discovered, 
to our consternation, that the Manager and his guide were 
missing. They were uncontrovertibly lost or di-owned, or 
both. What precise mishap had indeed befallen them in 
this inhospitable region we tried to imagine, but none of 
the theories of their absence satisfied the whole party,— 
doubtless because each man clung with affection and 
respect to his own view of the case. It was certain that 
our lost friend was without axe, blanket or camp-kit, although 
it was an equally certain and miserable fact that the entire 
food-supply of the party was with the missing boat, wher- 
ever that might be. The conclusive statement of our chief 
guide, upon this point, brought a groan from somewhere 
near the stomach of the Editor, while the Judge decided 
sententiously, quoting a semi-legal maxim in the body Qf 
his opinion, that " what can't be cured must be endured." 
The Thin Man, who had been gratifyingly successful with 
his rod, generously and (they said) rather patronizingly 
declared that there need be no fears for breakfast if all 
hands would be content to eat his trout. 



CHAPTEK Xiy. 

At length, howcvcn-, our faith iu the proverbial good sense 
of the Manager— to say nothing of our belief in Jove's care 
of wandering beggars— gradually dispelled our anxieties; 
we smoked and smoked, and slept. But our slumbers were 
not undisturbed. The owl saw our watch-fire and told 
other owls, and such an alarming chorus of inquiries fol- 
h)wed as to "Who? Who? Who-o-o? " we were, that one 
reckless person, startled from sleep, responded in a very 

improper manner, "None of your business! " It was. 

the general sentiment of the party, although, as we raised 
on our ell)ows, wide awake, we did not all endorse the 
emphasis of the phraseology in which it was uttered. 

We settled down to sleep* again, resolved to make a 
business of it, whoever might question our identity or our 
riiiht to be there. The fire burned low, and the heavy 
breathing of tired men in slumber and the occasional snap- 
pino- of tlie tire, were all the sounds that l)roke the deep 
stillness of the night in the forest. Suddenly a voice broke 
out, " Snakes! I felt a snake run across me! " 

"Take your boots off," responded an angry sleeper, 
whose nap was thus rudely broken—" take your Ijoots off. 
and you won't feel any snakes." 

" Don't insinuate anything of that sort, my dear fellow, 
—it's snakes in dead earnest this time." 



^^^ 'l^IIE BEAVEE TirVER WATERS. 

Tlie Chief Guitle now came to the front,— -Gentlemen, 
it's rabbits ! They're thicker in these woods than toads after 
a shower. They always skip and scoot around camp after 
dark, looking for something to eat. I felt one nibbling at 
the toe of my boot, but scar't him off and went to sleep 
again.-There! "-going to the pile of luggage at the foot 
of a tree near l)y-" the pesky rascals have been guawino- 
my pack-straps! They'll gnaw greasy leather every timeT 
I sha'n't go to sleep again to-night,-ril build up a rousino- 
fire and watch the little scamps or we sha'n't have a whole 
thing left by morning." And the faithful fellow did as he 
said, while the vision of snakes faded out entirely; and we 
slept again and dreamed of armies and hosts of light-footed 
but predatory rabbits surrounding our camp and waitinc. 
to see the Chief Guide nod before proceeding to gnaw the 
flesh off from our bones. 

Morning brought a solution of the mystery of the Man- 
ager's absence, and the doubt upon which we had in a pri- 
mitive way gone to bed, in the person of the Manager's 
guide. Indeed, he was more anxious than we. We were 
the " lost." He knew where he was all the while, but was 
unable to say whether we were as fortunate as to our own 
situation. The Chief Guide and he were discoursing as we 
awoke. It turned out that the Manager and his man had 
missed South Branch entirely, and gone five miles further 
up-stream, to "Little Rapids," where there was a sorry 
prospect for the night; but fortunately two gentlemen were 
there encamped for the night, and to their bed and board- 
such as they had to offer-the wanderers were invited. All 



THE MANAGEK LOST: A MAETYR. 141 

this the guide rehited to us as we rubbed our eyes after our 
first sleep in camp for tlie trip; and then, since breakfast 
was only possible to us at Little Rapids, we tumbled into 
our l)oats and proceeded thither as speedily as possible. 

Hastily crossing the carry there, of only a quarter of a 
mile, we came upon the Manager, sitting on a log, in all 
the solitary grandeur of a martyr,— with blotched face and 
hands, a red handkerchief about his neck, with eyes sug- 
gestive of a night of highly-seasoned social festivity, and 
as solemn as an owl. 

"How are you, anyway? "' 
" Glad to tind you safe and sound!'* 
" Thought you were lost, or drowned!" 
"Might as well have been," replied the Manager to our 
varied salutations;—''! didn't sleep a wink, and I was 
eold,— and as soon as the sun was up this morning the black 
flies pounced on me as if it was their last chance. See my 
face V— and my hands? I'm about eaten up.— Oh, you may 
think it's fun to get lost, without a blanket, and sleep in 

perdition and wake up in " 

"Torment, I suspect you mean," politely suggested the 
Judge; " still, you come out pretty well, considering what 
might have happened." 

"Trust a newspaper man to strike on his feet every 
time! " triumphantly added the Editor, who, however, had 
been slightly angry, the night before, at the intimation that 
his "snakes" were hypothetical. 

Our breakfast was speedily got ready and set before us. 
The Manager had not in the least exaggerated the facts as 



142 THE BEAVEK UlVEll WATETIS. 

to the black flj-. The eating on our part, hungry as we 
were, was moderation to abstemiousness compared with 
the devouring which we suffered, in tlie liot sun, from 
m3"riads of tlie little black imps. We were almost driven to 
madness by their attacks, and were only too glad to push 
on uj) tlie river, as soon as possible, out of the reach of the 
tierce swarms, that seemed to stand guard on this vantage 
ground and challenge all invaders of the sacred solitudes 
beyond. 

Proceeding up the river, we soon reached the foot of 
" All)any Carr)%" three-fourths of a mile long. C^arries are 
all pretty nmch aUke in that the guides must bear their 
inverted boats over their heads; and the sportsman, if he be 
a genuine one and phj^sically capable of it, must bend his 
back to a load of luggage that out oj:' the woods would 
make him shudder; and there is up hill and down, mud- 
holes and roots and prostrate trees and a vast deal of per- 
spiration and fatigue. In the real wilderness there is no 
royal road over the carry. In this instance we were loaded 
with the heavy blankets necessary for the cool nights, and 
our food-supply and camp-kit, to say nothing of the useless 
articles one ahvays brings to the woods; and doing our best, 
the guides were compelled to "double the carry" before 
we were ready to embark again. 

A pleasant row of two or three miles, over wliat nuist be 
good tishing grounds in earl}" spring, brouglit us to Albany 
Lake. This lake has shores which are attractive feeding 
grounds for deer. Passing through this body of water we 
entered and ascended the inlet to the rapids where another 
carry of three-fourths of a mile awaited us. 



COOKERY.— THE EDITOE OTEinVHELMED. 143 

I have attaiuments useful and oruamental, but on x\n< 
occasion, under the inspiration of hunger, I developed a 
talent for cookery, latent until then, which promises to 
serve me as good a turn in adversity as the trade which in 
some parts of the old world e\'ery son of fortune is com- 
pelled to learn. I dressed and Inoiled a trout on a twig, 
before an open fire, in a manner which, the Editor said, 
deserved a Special Notice— although the paragrapher would 
require a sample to b? laid upon his table. The true edi- 
torial instinct, however, led him to remark, in quite an 
opposite spirit, as the last vestige of the broiled tish disap- 
peared in the cooks mouth, that it was always youi' thin 
men Avho eat the most, and that Oliver Twisf. cry for 
- more" was expressive of their constant state of stomach. 
The judicial mind, however, ruled that strict right wronged 
no man, aud that a thin man, under the present constitu- 
tion, and the amendments thereto, could not be coerced 
into surrei^idering any portion of his goods-without an 
equivalent, and then only by virtue of the right of 
eminent domain. He was pleased to add, also, to the grat- 
ification of all but the Editor, that dead-heading, in the 
wilderness at least, (with significant emphasis on the qual- 
ifying phrase) was not to be countenanced, aud if any 
persoii (and he looked hard at the Editor ) desired to eat 
the fruJts of another person's skill, without his free con- 
sent, it was simply an indication that the distiction of me^nv 
^n,\tn>nn was not duly regarded in that person's miud;- 
but at this instant the gravity of the Judge broke down, 
aud we all joined in the laugh which the Editor caused by 
his successful per.sonation of the culprit receiving sentence. 



144 THE BEAYER RIAER WATERS. 

By this time we were all ready for the noon-day tramp 
over the carry. At the dam, in the swift water, tliere was 
very lively sport with the fly, among the small trout. The 
large ones had retired from the rapids, and the small ones 
had taken their places, as is likely to occur near the end of 
the time for fishing in swift water. 

A short row (about two miles) up the river .brought us 
to Smith's Lake-as pretty a sheet of water, with its seven 
wooded islands and cliarming, mountain-girt shores, as one 
is likely to see in the Adirondack region,— much like, 
indeed, but larger than Blue Mountain Lake, which is con- 
fessedly of surpassing ))eauty. 

We took possession, hy the sportsman's right, of the 
"Syracuse Camp," which its proprietors were to occupy 
later in the season. 

The open sleeping camp was hardly tenantable, and we 
were glad to avail ourselves of a trapi^er's winter-hut of 
logs and l)ark, of entirely nondescript a-chitecturnl design, 
but which contained a pile of stones for a fire-place, and a 
bed of marsh hay. We built a rousing fire, and a confla- 
gration seemed imminent as the flames and smoke and 
sparks flew up the sheets of spruce bark that formed the 
side of the hut by the tire. But a (rapper had, all alone, 
braved the rigors of the winter there, and doubtless had 
piled on the wood as freely in January as we needed to in 
May. At all events, the "fire risk " proved to be a good 
one, and despite our fears we learned to be comfortable on 
that score. A heavy rain that night searched out sundry 
defects in the roof, which were cured with fresh sheets of 
bark, the next day. 



CHAPTER XY. 

WluMi the sun caiiu' up, fresh and vio-orous, the next 
morninu'. tioeks of eross-lnlls, more luunerous than tlie spar- 
rows in our eastern cities, fluttered and (Uirted about 
our eanip. Tiie whir of their swift winii's, and the 
ehiteh of tlieir tiny claws on our l)ark-roof, woke us up. 
Tliey were very inipiisitive and tearless, and became great 
pets with us; although, each morning, somebody was dis- 
posed to anathematize them for disturl)ing our morning 
slumbers. They are such bright, cheerful and sociable 
littli' fellows, — chippering their quick, sharp notes through 
their cross twisted bills,— that I have become very fond of 
them, in these excursions in the wilderness, and have come 
to feel that they aie an essential part of the accompani- 
ments of a well regulated camj). 

After breakfast Ave l)egan to lookalxmt our surroundings 
and make our plans for the day. The " Syracuse Party," 
who.se hospilalities, so far as shelter was concerned, we 
were enjoying, had an eye to the picturesque in selecting 
their camping ground. In the midst of the sloping clear- 
ing of two or three acres, — made to avoid falling trees and 
to escai)e the mosquitoes whose delight is damp and .shady 
places among trees and shrubs,— they had erected the two 



146 THE BEAVER RIVER WATERS. 

or thi-ec l)ark structures whidi were ojjeu to all, or. as the 
spruee-bark sin-n read, 

" All sportsmen Avelcorne to its use. 
Rut not abuse.. " 

On the eastward, was a deliiihtiul view,— the semi- 
mountainous shores across the lake heavily wooded; while 
here and Ihrre I he pretty, Avooded islands looked like ,i>ems 
in their sell in,-. At the left, rises Pratfs M'ountain, or 
ymith's Hock, -the latte-- name sometimes bestowed in 
remend))-ance of a hermit who many ye:irs a^o dAvelt at 
its foot, cleared a few acres, and iinally .disapj.eared as 
mysteriously as he came. Tlie lake also takes from him 
its name— not very distinctive among men, to be sure, but 
emphatically so among bodies of water where Hound Pond, 
Clear Pond, Hock Pond, Bog Pond, and the like, occur 
with confusing reiteration. 

We entered upon the enjoyment of our sojourn at this 
delightful place with great zeal. Hods and reels were 
speedily rigged and we set forth ui>on a tour of com- 
bined fishing and exploring. It had dawned upon us; as 
we wT're ascending the river, that the water was high, 
and we soon made the disagreeable discovery that it was 
too liigh for good fishing. We were late for the fishing on 
the rapids, and too early for the fishing at the spring-holes. 
The trout were in the unsettled state in wliicli they always 
are. intern.ediute the times when they leave therainds and 
gather at the sining-holes, and were wandei-ing, at their 
own sweet will, all over the lake. We also found that for 
trout of any desirable size, we must troll along the shal- 



BABIES.— BAIT YS. FLY, 147 

lows by the shores, where fair sized trout were hunting for 
minnows, or tish with bait off rocky points; and, saddest 
confession of all, the fly cast in the good orthodox way was 
almost useless anywhere except down the river upon the 
rapids. There one might have sport, such as it was, with 
the little fellows, and take trout in numbers to his satisfac- 
tion. The scales, Innvever, brought mortihcation and 
regret. The wicked Herod himself would have shed tears 
to see what a heap of dead babies one afternoon's slaughter 
produced. 

But a half loaf is better tlian none; and I maintain that a 
tisherman, who sulks in his tent,-like that graceless and 
obstinate hero, Achilles, -because he can't take trout with a 
lly whde he can with l)ait, is, to say the least, more nice 
than wise. The most ardent fisherman wdiom it is my 
good fortune to know, tlie victor in many a contest of skill 
with the bamboo, the venerable and genial Reuben,~who 
fondles a favorite tly, frayed and ragged from the light 
with a big trout, as a father fondles his tirst baby,-even 
Keubeu, when he must do it, yields tiies, leader, slencler 
rod and all, and takes a "bait-pole." After him, let no 
common tisherman lift his nasal organ sky-ward and sniff, 
if tisherman's luck brings him to the woods at a time 
" between hay and grass," and only bait takes the fish. 

Without describing the spirit in which we did it. it is 

• suflieient to say that in this case we accepted the inevitable, 

and after a fair trial confined ourselves in the main to still 

bait fishing and trolling with the rod. It would afford me 

peculiar satisfaction, as a historian, to record triumphs 



148 THE BEAVER KIVER WATERS. 

sucli as the reader lias only dreamed of; but for my own 
comfort and history's sake, I prefer to utter unpalatable 
truths rather than to indulge in the fictions of fancy. It 
was a solemn fact that we had made a mistake. We had 
studied the almanac l)utnot the signs of the peculiar season. 
However, there was no sulky Achilles among us, and in 
the end we took the half loaf with j^hilosophical cheerful- 
ness. 

After a forenoon of suceessful tishing, my guide "John" 
took me up the inlet. It is one of those dead, stagnant 
streams which one finds now and then slowly winding 
through a marsh. The alders and weeds were brown and 
dry, and .everything was as cheerless and lonely as can be 
imagined. As we silently and slowly- crept up the wind- 
ing stream, watchful to detect the leap of the trout, the 
stillness was almost oppressive. There was no bird oi- ani- 
mal life to l)reak the spell of desolation, except the singu- 
lar note of the bittern bearing the descriptive, popular name 
of "the pile-driver." The half dull, half-resonant " ca- 
thug! ca-thug!" of its voice was occasionally heard, and 
once the bird, startled by our unsuspected approach, sprang 
suddenly into the air, uttered a croaking "squawk" and 
flew heavily away. We lingered in this region of death 
and silence as long as I could endure it, and then hastened 
back to the sparkling waters of the lake, where our eyes 
could at least rest themselves on the green-clad islands and 
mountains, and our ears welcomed again the gurgle and 
nuu-mur of the waters around the prow of our light and 
swift-moving boat. 



JOHN, "THE TALIvER." 149 

This " Jolm." who had fallen to my lot, Avas a singular 
character. He Avas absolutely lazy and useless about camp. 
Very likely he Avoidd have frozen and starved before he 
woidd have cho])iH'd wood for the iiiiiht or i)rci>ared a 
breakfast. But he was as willing and free to row all day 
as the best of guides. The last thing at night, before going 
to Ix'd, he Avould come to me and ask, " Don't you want 
to try the fishing before breakfast ?" 

" Don't care if I do, John; what time shall we start?" 
"Five o'clock, or half past, if you say so. " 
"All right. John. Call me, and I'm on hand." 
At the appointed minute, in the morning, I woidd feel 
his touch and see his gesture; and creeping out of the hut 
as stealthily as he had entered it. without wakening a man, 
I followed him to the shore. Once in the boat he Ix^came 
" The Talker. " In a drawling, half audible tone he slowly 
talked on and on and on, all day long, of his hunting and 
trapping and the wonderful alfairs of wliich he had I)een a 
great part. His special theme, upon Avhich he delighted 
to dwell at all times, Avas his " jtardner," the hunter Avhose 
hut Ave Avere occupying. It did no good to interrupt him, 
or to request him to be silent. He Avas sure to tind occasion 
and excuse for rencAvinghis everlasting draAvl in a Ioav tone. 
His good nature and kindne,>^s, hoAvcA'cr, totally disarmed 
my indignation ; but mau}^ a time I stepi)e(l on shore, after 
tAvo or three hours of this Talker's afHictive society, Avith a 
sense of relief. I learned Avisdom from this experience, and 
a burnt child Avould no sooner ])ut his hand on a red-hot 



150 THE BEAVER RIVER WATERS. 

stove than I would again knowingly engage a "Talkative 
Guide." 

We had varied success in fishing. IVIy record one day 
was as follows : one trout before breakfast; from breakfast 
to dinner, three, one of them thirteen and a quarter inches 
long and seven and a half inches around: after dinner, by 
trolling with spoon, one salmon trout, fifteen inches long. 
The following day I took twenty six-trout, the largest 
l)eing a half poimd in weight. A day later I took, ti'oU- 
ing with rod, two before breakfast: after breakfast and 
before dinner, nine, the largest, fourteen and a half inches 
long and seven inches around : after dinner, one. This was 
aljout the average fortune of the party. 

The Editor was having excellent luck, one day, fishing 
from a rock opi)Osite camp, when suddenly the trout ceased 
biting, and he began to take bullheads. Determined to 
remove these invaders, he continued fishing until he had 
caught an amazing quantity, when they also suddenly dis- 
appeared, and sun-fish in great numbers appeared. The 
Editor finally abandoned the contest and left the " punkin 
seeds " in possession of the field. 

The Judge was, at another time, the sole occupant of a 
shelving rock at a favorite point, and was fly-fishing with 
gi-eat zeal. We who were at a distance had our attention 
called to him l)y a capering and cavorting on the rock, that 
indicated great judicial excitement and, doubtless, a contest 
with a magnificent s<dmo fonUnalis. Drawing near in our 
boats to witness the expected victory, we saw that by 
some ill-luck the fisherman's rod was broken, but he. tlius 



.TlTlDICIAL TRTUMJPir. 151 

disabled, was gallaiith^ plajing a tine trout up and down 
the water in front. Finally, by a niagniticent run back- 
wards — a victorious retreat— he landed his panting victim 
on the rock. It was a tine triumph of mind over matter, 
and we heartily cheered, while the Judge waved his In-oken 
rod and tangled line, and joined in the shouts. 

(!)n the northerly side of the lake, near Smith's clearing, 
is the outlet of Harrington's Pond, a goodl}^ stream that 
comes tumbling down the rocks and forms a favorite pool 
for ti-out. We had some of our tinest sport there, in water 
then about eight feet deep. There were also points in the 
lake where submerged islands just lifted their rocky crowns 
above the surface. These seemed to be chosen haunts of 
the trout, and we took our largest at such places. There 
are various small lakes and ponds, not distant and easily- 
accessible, but we visited none of them. Later in the sea- 
son they are said to afford rare sport. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

We had all the the eiijo3'meiit that a life in camp on the 
shores of a beautiful lake gives, day after day, ]jut nothing 
occurred very notable to record. The evening camp-fire 
nightly brought us all together, and there was "fun alive!" 
It was a favorite pastime of the Editor's, as bed-time ap- 
proached, to relate "hair-lifting" stories of panthers and 
other wild animals that arc supposed to lurk in the forest, 
but which no summer visitor ever sees. On one evening in 
particular he exerted his fancy to the utmost, but with sucli 
a truthful air that even the very elect would have been de- 
ceived, if they had not known the editorial capabilities in 
the way of invention. The forest seemed alive with tragedies 
ready to burst upon us from the black depths around. 
None of us would have been surprised if a pack of wolves 
had dashed down ui)on us across the clearing. A panther's 
scream in the darkness of the adjacent wilderness would 
have been as natural to the occasion as the darting flight of 
the cross-bills at sunrise. As we crawled into camp and 
went to bed, one, whose fortune it was to sleep at the end 
of the roAv, near the entrance over which hung a piece of 
bagging, displayed an unusual nervousness. Such is the 
inhumanity of man to man, that the rest also became very 
nervous, and expressed fears that as the fire biu'ned low we 
might be attacked by some wild beast. 



THE edttok's revenge. 153 

" Don't you suppose this door oaii be fastened, boys?", 
said the end man. 

"Oh, no," responded a fortunate middle-man ; "and a 
l)anther wouldn't mind that old rag-, anyway, for a minute." 

"We are lucky," said another insider, " if he don't 
pounce on this old bark roof, and come at us in that way." 

"Hark!" cried, the man of nerves, "did you hear 
that?" 

It was a piercing crj- in the forest. 

" What shall we do ? " in chorus. 

" Do ? " answered the Editor, "say your prayers and go 
to sleep. It has come to a pretty pass, that a sc-reecli owl 
can drive you fellows all wild with fear." 

The sup]iressed merriment exploded at this point, and the 
end man, sadl}^ silent, laid himself down to sleep, wiser in 
wood-lore than he had been before. The Editor had his 
revenge for "snakes in his lioots," l»ut nobody was afraid 
of panthers aft(U' that. 

The days go on in the wilderness all too swiftly. To the 
lover of the woods no hours drag heavily, except when a 
long, drizzling rain settles down over forest and lake, and 
there are only the canij) and the smudge and Ihe old worn- 
out stories to entertain. It must be confessed that when 
such hours drag out into days tliey are severely irksome, 
and one thinks of comfort;ible ofllce and home libi-ai'y and 
domestic circle. But when the sun comes out again, the 
transformation both of nature and the camper's spirits is 
complete. Then the life of the woods seems doubl}' joy- 
ous. The day of departure is no longer looked for with 
5 



154 THE BEAVER RIVER WATERS. 

yearning but with dread and impatience. A single day 
of storm and drizzle is wretched enough, but the succeed- 
ing days are doubly delightful for the enforced inactivity 
and discomfort. 

Luckily we had no rainy days, although now and then a 
dashing shower, after the genvune Adirondack fashion, re- 
minded us that nature held in her urn all sorts of gifts. 

But every camping experience has its hnal day. The 
baggage is repacked, the tent pins pvdled, the rods un- 
jointed, the last things picked up, and all stowed away 
in the marvelous boats of those forest lakes and streams, 
and faces are turned home-ward. Our time was up one 
day in June. The Judge was to hold Court somewhere 
on a certain day We broke camp early in the morning and 
set out for home. In passing through Albany Lake we 
encountered a terrific thunderstorm with high wind. Our 
fi-ail boats were tossed and driven and rocked in a most un- 
comfortable way for fifteen minutes, and then the wind 
bdled. the storm passed away, and the sun shone out with 
an iiniocent surprise as if to ask what the elements had 
l)een doing while he stepped behind a cloud for a few min- 
utes to make his before-dinner toilet. 

My guide, in a little spurt of speed, racing with another 
boat in Albany Lake, broke an oar, we went ashore at 
the tirst opportunity, changed seats, and he paddled the 
tliirty miles to Wardwell's. That took a good deal of the 
talk out of him, and I enjoyed his societ}^ more than I had 
done at any time before. We took dinner at Little Rapids, 
where the Manager on the upward trip spent his eventful 



BAD BLOOD. — OUTWARD. — OUT. 155 

night with the mosquitoes, and his niornino- with the black 
flies. The Manager's blood was evidently bad— for most of 
the flies were dead and gone ! 

While dinner was preparing, I clani1)ered out upt)n the 
rocks in the rapids— hungry to the last for a little more fly- 
casting— and took several gamy little fellows in the eddies 
and pools behind the rocks. Then I unjointed my rod for 
good and all. 

On the way down the crooked river again we enc(nmtered 
another terrific thunderstorm. It may have been the same 
one that attacked us so fiercely in Albany Lake, and which, 
in descending the river, got all tangled up, lost the points of 
compass and unwittingly took the back-track. It Inul, 
however, lost much of it vigor, although where it got all 
the water that poured down is still a marvel. We endured 
it— man and guide— as long as we could, bailing the boat 
occasionally, until it seemed good to us to "let it rain" 
while we went ashore for shelter. An Adirondack boatman 
always carries his shelter with him— his boat. We drew 
ours ashore, turned it over, crept under, and were safe from 
the pelting of the storm. 

At five P. M. we were at Wardweil's again. We had had 
enough work for one day, and remained here over night. 
The next morning we walked the eleven miles to Fen- 
ton's, in four hours ; breathed, repacked, dined and 
dressed for civilization; walked five miles further, out of 
the woods, and then took seats in the wagon conveying our 
luo-o-a,o-e; bent our heads to the third thunder-shower of the 



156 THE li?:AYET{ lUYEK WATERS. 

day; and ixiached Lowvillc in time for supper and the 6:23 
P. M. train, which wc took for Utica and beyond. 

Once on a railwax' train, lionieward l)()iind, woodsmen 
are no better, not mucli wiser, no liappier — yes, liapi)ier! — 
than other people. 



JhI^OUQH the •VflLDERJNIE?^, 



FROM 



BOONEVILLK TO SARATOGA 



CHAPTER XYII. 

The following- ooiTespondeiice explains itself: — 

(1.) 
Dear j\Ir. Graves: 

I want a guide for two, Mr. Wallace (of the Guide 
Book ) tells me >'ou are a genuine sportsman yourself, and 
a good friend of sportsmen, — that I may write to you 
freely for information, and that ycTu will as freely give. 

I am going across the wilderness by way of the Fulton 
Chain, Raquette Lake, and so on, — time, two or three 
weeks, — right after July 4tli, if ni}^ clients will let me. I 
am to take with me my son, a lad of eleven years — we two, 
no more. I shall come with all needed supplies and some 
pet notions of mine bj' wa}^ of tent and camping-kit. My 
boy is a strong, healthy, plucky little fellow, and I shall 
have no fears that he will give out where I don't. 

My guide must be a careful, discreet, judicious man, and 
a good woodsman, — not profane, not foul-mouthed, not too 
talkative, temperate. 

Have you in mind such a man as 1 want ? 

Yours Truly, 



(3.) 

BoonerlUe, N. Y., June, 1877. 
Dear Sir : — 

I have just the man you want — John L. Brinckerhoof, 

a middle-aged man of character in this town — the best 



160 BOONEYILLE TO SARATOGA, 

guide ill the woods. I have seen him and read him your 
letter. He saj^s he will go with you. His terms, with 
l)()al. are $;>.00 a day. I can get you a man for $2.50, but 
John is worth half a dollar a da}' more than any body else 
I know of. Write me if you want him. 

Yours, B. P. Graves. 

B. P. Graces. Boone dUe. N. Y.:— 

Engage Brinckerhoof. Will reach Booneville, morning 
train, July Hth. . . 



I kept my telegraphed promise. At the station, in the 
earl}' morning, a bright-faced, energetic, vigorous and 
3'oungerly gentleman stepped up to me. as 1 stopped a 

moment on the platform, and said, "Is this Mr. ?" 

I assured liim that was m}^ name. It was Mr. Graves who 
addressed me. He convoyed \\\y son and myself directly 
to the hotel, ordered our luggage sent up, and took posses- 
sion of us as one likes to be possessed liy an honest, go- 
ahead friend who knows bett(M-*than ^'ourself what is to be 
d(.nc. 

\\'liil(^ we were waiting for breakfast, several strong, 
robust y(mng men came into the hotel, who were pointed 
out to me as guides. I fell into conversation with them, 
and found them such honest, sensible, good-natured fel- 
lows, tliat J half repented having already made an engage- 
ment. "John" came in, soon after, and made himself 
known to me. He seemed to be a little past fifty j^ears of 



JOHN. — "GOING m." — OUR OUTFIT. 161 

age; was large, compact and strong; had a face which 
nature intended for that of a general, and as honest as the 
sun, and a quiet, self -respectful, sensible way of talking 
which won my heart from the first. "Graves is right," 
thought I; " this is just the man for me,— he's got a head, 
as well as a good body and strong arms. " And I never had 
occasion to change my opinion. 

Phelps provided a pair of horses, wagon and driver; and 
after a substantial breakfast we set out on our way to "Old 
Forge " at the foot of the Fulton Chain of lakes, twenty-six 
and a half miles distant. To Moose River village, or Law 
rence's, twelve and a half miles,— a little settlement in the 
woods clustered about the large tannery there established 
—the road was quite fair. Here we dined, and after an 
hour or more resumed our journey, but in quite a different 
manner. We left our wagon,— for it was useless beyond 
this point; our horses were made to swim across Moose 
River, which is here quite a broad stream ; we were ferried 
over, and on the further shore we prepared for the serious 
and hard work of the trip. All our luggage, except rods 
and ritles, was piled, packed and strapped on the back of 
one horse, while the other was saddled for Ned and myself 
to ride alternately. 

And while we are lying on the grass, in the shade of a 
Avild cherry tree, and the driver and John are carefully 
arranging the load on the pack-horse, I am sure it will be 
of interest to the practical sportsman if I describe in detail 
what we took to the woods: 

First.— X rubl)er "navy-bag," containing extra clothes 



162 BOONEVILLE TO SAEATOGA. 

for two; tin pail which contained cooking and table outfit 
for four; small hand-bag, containing tly-book well fur- 
nished, lines, reels and many minor articles, and all the 
little odds and ends of things which experience had taught 
me are so convenient in camp, — all in the navy-bag, snug 
and dry. 

Second. — Bundle, or pack, — made up of a light camp- 
stove, constructed from a plan of my own, ( folding up 
much like an envelope); a cotton " A " tent, water-proofed 
and weighing ten pounds; heavj^ blankets; small, short- 
handled axe in sheath; landing-net with short handle, — 
all wrapped and strapped inside of a large piece of enam- 
eled cloth to be used to spread upon our bed of boughs, in 
place of rubber blanket. 

Third. — Box containing provisions, weighing sixty-five 
pounds, — the box fitted with trunk straps with shoulder 
loops for carrying as a pack. 

Fourth. — Loose articles, — fish basket filled with "sun- 
dries;" two fiy rods and one bait rod, firndy strapped 
together; two light, summer overcoats, and two rubber 
overcoats; and a Stevens' "Hunters' Pet" rifie in a leather 
case. 

The entire luggage above mentioned — being house, stove, 
cooking and table utensils, provisions ( with minor omis- 
sions) for three persons for two weeks, sporting outfit, etc., 
etc., weighed one hundred and sixty-five pounds, not 
guessed, but by Fairbanks' scales. I add with some pride 
but entire sincerity that this outfit proved to be admirable 
and complete beyond expectation; and, with added experi- 



ON THE MARCH. — ARNOLD'S. 163 

euce, I can tliink of uotliing more that I would provide for 
a similar trip. 

But the packing is completed, it is nearl}^ two o'clock, 
and we have fourteen miles through the woods to accom- 
plish, before night, over a notably rough road; and John 
has given the wora, ''all ready! " Our driver leads the way, 
driving the pack-horse before him without rein, leaving 
him to pick the path which his sagacity and experience 
helps him to do better than a man could do it for him; Ned 
is perched on the saddle horse and follows; I shoulder the 
bundle of rods and keep at the horse's heels; while John 
brings up the rear with the "Hunters' Pet " in his hand. 

Nothing good could be said of the road, and nothing 
worse than that it was after the fashion of wilderness 
roads. It was through a dense forest, a mere wagon track 
full of mud-holes, with rocks, roots, hills, and corduroy 
bridges. The passage is sometimes made, at the driest 
season, with the " buck -board"' wagon, but horse-back 
riding or walking is preferable. Ladies have passed over 
the road— American ladies at that— but they do not go at 
the break-neck speed that we went. We made the fourteen 
miles in four hours and twenty minutes; and fresh from 
my office, I managed, without detriment or great fatigue, 
to walk ten miles of the fourteen. 

Before reaching Old Forge, and two miles distant, we 
passed the old " Arnold Place," famous in its day as the 
favorite resort of sportsmen of the old school, but now gone 
to decay and utterly abandoned. It is, indeed, the last 
house of the little settlement commenced by Herreshoff, 



164 BOOXETTT.LE TO S.U?ATO0A. 

sou-iu-law of Jobu Brown of Provideuce, Kliode Island, 
after wliom ' " John Brown's Tract "' is named. Brown, in 
1793. purchased '.210,1 00 acres of the wiUl h\nds lying about 
the head-waters of Moose River, llerreshoff cleared about 
'.2000 acres, erected man}- buildings, gathered there thirty or 
forty families, built a dam and constructed a forge, under- 
took the manufacture of iron, which effort proved a costly 
failure — and blew his brains out. The wilderness is now 
claiming its own and slowly creeping in upon the two 
thousand acres once torn from it. The last house is in 
ruins, itself the scene of a lirutal murder; and only the 
familiar swallows hovering about the deserted barns, or 
skimming over the grass-grown tields. with happy twitter, 
in the bright sunshine, pleasantly remind the passer-by of 
the life and activity and homes once existing there. 

It was a delightful change of scene that met our eyes as 
we let down the bars and passed through the garden en- 
closure back of •• Old Forge Hotel," a little way down the 
river below First Lake. As our modest cavalcade wheeled 
around in front of the hotel, the 'old, old" smudge met 
our gaze, a party of Rochester sportsmen nodded pleasantly 
to us from the rude verandah, the small boy. of the place, 
with hands in his pockets, approached and stared at Ned 
as being an unaccustomed visitor and a congenial spirit, 
and at length our host, Comstock himself, emerged from 
the kitchen where supper was brewing, and greeted his 
newly arrived guests. The splint-bottomed arm-chairs on 
the verandah invited us to rest, and we sank into them with 
the accumulated emphasis of our fom"teen miles of pedestrian 



"OLD FORGE." — COLLEGE BOTS. 16o 

and equine travel added to wagon and rail-road ride and 
superlatively early rising at Utira aftf-r a v^rv l-.t.^ r<-tirinir 
and previous Journeying. 

But we were not too hungry nor too weary to observe 
what a quiet, charming out-look there was. Down the 
grass-plot, easterly a few rods, gleamed the Moose River 
waters, deep and sluggish, retarded in their flow by the dam 
at our left. The forest in this direetion had hardly lieen 
broken. In the distance the mountains lifted their heads 
in the light of the descending sun. Within us was the feel- 
ing that the inevitably hard and tiresome 'going in " had 
been accomplished, and that now and here really began the 
unalloyed delights Xed and I had talked over so often— both 
with boyish enthusiasm — at the winter fireside, and more 
frequently out under the trees on the lawn where the boys 
had pitched the tent, when the summer heats had begun to 
glow and the pavements were hot. and the air of office and 
schoolroom was stifling. 

At supper two brown, blue-shirted young men sat at the 
table on my left. 1 thought they were guides, who by the 
genius 'oci had been, according to the fashion of the woods, 
invited to the "first table." Some common enough Latin 
phrase uttered in joke l>etween them, however, attracted 
my attention, and I speedily learned that my two table 
neighbors were students from Hamilton College. That he- 
ing my own Alma ]\Iater. I was quickly on good terms 
with them, and they related to me the history of their ad- 
ventui'es thus far. Said one of them: 

'We resolved, last winter, to do the woods this summer. 



166 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

We built a boat, at odd times, studied up the maps and 
guide-books, and the question of out-fit and supplies, 
and got everything, route and all, down to a fine point. 
We shipped our boat by rail to Booneville, had it trans- 
ported by wagon to Moose liiver Village, and, having been 
told that the river was navigable from that point up to the 
lakes, we put our boat into the water there. That was two 
days ago. 

" The river is navigal)le after a fashion, to be sure, or we 
shouldn't be liere now. But it is full of snags, rocks and 
rapids, and we made very slow progress and had a hard 
time of it. The night that we spent on the way, it 
rained fearfully. We carr}' for our bed, and swing between 
two trees, a double-length hammock and sleep in it, feet to 
feet. In place of a tent we have a rubber blanket long 
enough to cover us both completely, heads and all. That 
was the way we camped in the rain, the horrid din of a 
thunderstorm with fearfully vivid lightning all about us. 
For cooking utensils we have onlj' a frying-pan." 

"No coifee-pot ? " inquired I in amazement. 

"No ; after we have fried our pork or trout, we scrub out 
the frying-pan and make coffee in it." 

" Spare me, on that," I said ; "I want my coftee in the 
woods as good as at my own breakfast table, — other cook- 
ing will take care of itself, with such appetite as the woods 
give." 

" Oh, it does the business well enough, on a pinch ; and 
we were bound to reduce our luggage to the lowest possible 
point: Why, knives and forks and a spoon or two, and 



COLLEGE boys' STORY. — UP THE BIVER. 167 

till cups, a lantern, axe, fishing- tackle and ritle, complete 
our out-lit. I admit that we are "roughing it" in good 
earnest. At all events, the journey up here from Law- 
rence's deserves that appellation. But, 'fur.sauet hue olim 
)uemi/m.se jN nibit ^^— which, freely translated, means, 'it will 
make a good story to tell at college next winter.' However, 
1 shall have to tone it down a little, or the boys won't believe 
it." 

"They will doubtless," 1 said, "hurl back at you, ' pos- 
fo/iif qtiiti posse ritlciif'i r,' and translate it to suit themselves: 
' Your l)ig thing was all in the thinking.' "' 

"Oh, no; I don't fear that, if 1 can only preserve for 
future reference the scars oC some of these big l)listers." 

When I saw the nariator of this story, as I did the follow- 
ing summer, bearing from the commencement stage his 
graduating honors and jilentiful Ixxiuets, I was thinking, 1 
confess, more of the woods and of our interview at Old 
Forge than of his strong and graceful oration and manly 
l)resence — and 1 had not forgotten the blisters. 

It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening when John 
took our luggage on his broad, strong shoulders down to the 
l)oat-house where his own beautiful Adirondack boat — his 
special joy and pride — awaited us. A pleasant row up the 
river by the fading light, and in the cool evening air, was a 
blissful change from our hard joui'ney through the woods 
on foot and horse-back. We passed "Murderer's Point ," 
where Nat Foster shot the Indian, Drid, as he was rowing 
up the river. John told the stor3% but it is better told in 
II. Perry Smith's " Summerings in the Wilderness," 



168 BOONEVILLE TO SABATOGA. 

It was after nine o'clock when, after having crossed First 
Lake in the darkness, our boat grated u])on the sands and 
our h)ng day's travel was done. We had arrived at "Stick- 
nc}^ Camp" situate near the end of a narrow ridge or long- 
neck of land running out to a point fioni Ihe north shore 
and fornung the division between First and Second Lakes. 
The "('amp'' consists of two well built, shingle-roofed 
log-houses, about Iwenty-tive by twenty -eight feet, and one 
and a half stories high, a corner of each nearly touching a 
corner of the other, like the squares on a chess board. 
Ample verandahs run nearly around each ])uilding. One 
structure Avas closed to all except the inunediate friends of 
the owner. The other was at. the disposal of our guide, he 
having erected the buildings and having for 3'ears been 
the guide of the "Stickney Party." A framed building, 
used as. a boat-house below and general depository above, 
stands on the shore of Second Lake, and an ice-house, well 
filled ever}^ season, burrows under the protecting shade of 
some thickly growing trees. The under-brush,is cut away, 
leaving large pine and other trees which afford ample shade 
but pernut the black Hies, " ])unkics " and nios(]uitoes 
little refuge from the breeze that almost continually blows 
from one lake or the other. 

The house we occupied had a well appointed and fur- 
nished kitchen, as to essentials. Its rude Avails Avere lined 
Avith fishing tackle, tools to mend a gun, a rod or a boat 
. Avith, and no limit of couA^enieiit odds and ends of Avoodsy 
things, affording abundant entertainment and study on a 
rainy day, and exceedingly handy in case of almost any con- 



"8TI0KNEY CAMP, OF BLEi^BED MEMORY." 169 

ceivable break-down. The cupboard would have done 
credit to a good, motherly house-wife. The dining-room 
was amjile and contained a table at which twenty hungrj'- 
men might sit at case while John should load it down with 
the marvelous results of his delicious forest cookery. 
Through the open doors and windows of the dining-room 
one could look upon the waters of two lakes, and hear the 
wavelets " lap, lap " on either shore. Above were two well 
lighted and comfortable sleeping rooms, one for guides and 
the other for "the party," — the latter room furnished with 
beds having springs, mattresses, slieets and mosquito bars, 
— things not orthodox in the woods, to be sure, but amaz- 
ingl}^ comfortable. 

We did not learn all this upon the night of our arrival, 
for we speedil}^ found our way to our good lieds and slept 
the glorious sleep of the woods. " Stickne^y Camp," of 
blessed memory, was our delightful home for several days, 
every waking hour of which was one prolonged dream of 
peace and rest and beauty. The lullal)y of the waves and 
tlie tender sighing of the pines at our cliamber window 
made two or three nights memorable as occasions when one 
was soothed so sweetly to slumber, and yet so gentl}^ moved 
to pleasant thoughts, that it seemed ungrateful not to yield 
to the soothing and also a cruel loss not to drink the inspi- 
ration of the hour and the sweet sounds to the full. Lying 
on the pine-leaf-sprinkled knolls in the shade, and looking 
oft' upon the glancing and glistering waters gently moved 
by the breeze under the bright sun, and feeling the resinous 
breath of the cool forest on the cheek, was rest to heart and 



170 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

mind as well as health to nerve and delight to the eye ; and 
the sense of beaut}^ 2:rew like an infant drawing new life 
from the maternal fount. John, tireless, faithful, kind, to- 
be-depended-on, unobtrusive. ))usv about the liousehold 
duties, added to rather than detracted from this suise of 
delicious peace and rest and enjojinent of nature. No 
other vacation scene of cam]>, or voyage, or glorious si)ort. 
wilh rod and reel, ever comes back to memory so fi'Ciiucntly 
or with such perfect and entire satisfa('tion, refreshment 
and delight as this at " Stickney Camp." 

I saw, too, all these things through the fresji, young eyes 
of a bo}' of vigorous mind and bodv. I shared his healthy 
and entirely nntural sensntions. And I suppose the father's 
heart was gladdened by the happiness of his first born. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

On the morning of our first day in camp, the colleg-e 
boys called upon us on their way up the Fulton Chain, and 
on to the St. Lawrence by Ilatpiette River. They had 
entirely recovered from their hard trip up Moose river to 
Old Forge, and entered with spirit upon the long and difii- 
cult journey that awaited them. We tried to induce them 
to tarry with us for a day, but the}' were eager to enjoy 
" the real thing"; and we parted with them most reluct- 
antly. 

A " good provider" was our John, and he believed in a 
well filled larder. If a garden could have been extemp(-)r- 
ized, I have no doul)t we should have had all the sununcr 
vegetables at our door. The next best thing was to " bait 
the buoys," and then take from the lake — the forester's 
garden, granarj^ and butcher-shop — a pair of salmon trout 
whenever desired for a change, or to eke out fisherman's 
luck in catching speckled trout. Indeed, as John broiled the 
former, only for the catching of them, I should have been 
content to leave the speckled trout to their own devices. 
Our very first fishing experience on the Fulton Chain, 
therefore, was in taking minnows. The lad was expert at 
that, and was delighted with the sprightly sport. These 
tiny, timid fish, found in the shallow water near the shores, 



172 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

wheu caught were cut in pieces and scattered in deep 
water about the ancliored stone attaclied 1)}' a long rope to 
a floating stick or buoy. After a day or two, we baited our 
large, strong hooks with live minnows and angled for the 
salmon trout which had found these places good feeding 
grounds. They took the bait ver}^ gently and deliberately, 
a sudden pull fixed the steel in their strong jaws, and then 
such a commotion! Hand over hand we jiuik^d tliem right 
up to the surface and flopped them into the boat without 
giving them an inch of line or an instant to meditate a 
counter movement. It was the only safe way to deal with 
them. There was a certain sort of sport in this fishing, but 
it was chieflj' a matter of brute force and a good breakfast. 

After baiting the buoys, and thus ampiv providing for 
our table wants thereafter, and with a soldier's wisdom pro- 
tecting the line of a possible retreat, we opened the real 
fishing campaign at "the marsh." A cold stream winds 
its sluggish current through aswami)on the southeast side 
of First Lake, that 5^ears ago was and still is liooded by the 
dam at Old Forge. We cast our flies in the clear, deep 
pools, occurring here and there in the course of the stream, 
and surrounded b}' ghostly dead trees that still resist decay, 
and by graceful but troublesome lily-pads. The lad had 
never fished with the fly Ijefore. and after some minor 
disasters readily consented to take his first lessons in open 
water. In a few minutes I took fifteen trout, most of them 
small, and, these being all we wanted for diiuier, we 
returned to camp. The remainder of the day was charm- 
ing, out under the trees; and as we were content to fake 



FISHING. — A BROKEN ROD AND SAD HEART. 173 

whatever of eiijo^'meiit the wilderness brought us, we 
lay on the ground in the shade, were fanned by the breeze 
that had arisen, looked out iqion the waters and the grand 
old forests, and talked away the hours ( the bo}^ had no 
end of talk in him ) until balni}^ night came again. 

The next morning John brought in a two-pound salmon 
trout for l)reakfast. In the afternoon we went up through 
Second and Third, and into Fourth Lake about half its 
length, to Jack Shepperd's camp, situate in a grove of 
small spruces, on the soutli shore. Jack is one of the noted 
gui:les of the region, and he has a most comfortable 
sportsman's abiding-place. There were at that time live 
' ' camps " — substantial buildings — on Fourth Lake : Snyder 
Camp, Sam Dunakin's and Lawrence's on the north shore, 
and Shepperd's and Pratt's on the south shore, all private 
but Shepperd's and Duuakin's, which were for the enter- 
tainment of all who would pay for it. 

On our return, just at sunset, we had some very pretty 
sport at the head of Fourth Lake outlet. Ned struck a 
half-pound trout, and with boyish impetuosity gave a tre- 
mendous jerk, and broke a second joint. The poor fel- 
low's heart was almost as badly broken, thinking that his 
rod was ruined and his fun was all up for the trip. But 
that evening John, our good genius, mended and made it 
about as good as new. The lad afterwards, with a little 
instruction, acquired considerable skill with the tly-rod, 
and was sometimes elated with success superior to that of 
liis elders. A boy may ])e trusted to pick up a knowledge 
of fishing and all the kinks and knacks, quite as rt^adily as 



174 B()ONKVILT;E TO SARATOGA. 

grown pcoi)l('. Indeed, I doubt whether any body can 
handle a piu-liook with such remarkable success as a boy 
does. I suppose this intuitive knowledge of "how to take 
fish " implies that our remote ancestors went a-fishing for a 
living for many generations, and that their then acquired 
skill and habits come out naturally in a l)oy before his 
nature is overlaid by the discipline and results of modern 
education. 

The following day was Sunday. John announced that 
we had eaten uj) everything in the way of our fish-supply 
and suggested, that there must be a pair of salmon trout at 
the buoy waiting for us. We went to our preserve. Making 
a virtuous necessity of it, in a few moments we took three sal- 
mon trout wcighingtwo and a quarter, one and three-quar- 
ters, and one and a half pounds respectively, andaspeckled 
trout weighing a half-pound. They made a breakfast befit- 
ting the day, — and it required something remarkable to 
l)efit such a day as that was, for it was perfection itself. 

The weather has much to do with the enjoyment of peo- 
ple of in-door life, to be sure ; but in the woods, when you 
are camping or tramping, it is the all-important thing. It 
makes or mars your out-door life. A fortnight of rain in 
the midst of your sojourn in the forest is a calamity with- 
out mitigation or com[)ensation. But perfect weather 
among the trees and on the lakes and streams — that is 
blessedness itself. 

Tu the afternoon we went to church on the summit of 
Bald jVIountain, and worshipped Nature. AVe made the ;is- 
cent from the north shore of Third Lak(;, by a good trail, 



ON BALD MOUNTAIN. — WHAT WE SAW 175 

and spent [il)oiit two liours on the heights. We gathered 
wild strawberries out of the crevices of the rocks ; looked 
upon lakes and less loftj^ mountains as though they were 
spread out upon a map ; looked down into an ancient bea- 
ver-meadow in a valley on the north side of the mountain, 
through which a little stream was quietly wandering ; and 
inscril)ed our names on the timbers of Colvin's Signal Sta- 
tion. The southern face of the mountain is almost perpen- 
dicular rock, and its summit is nearly bald, whence its 
name. We gazed far to the westward, toward the region 
of church-spires and happy homes ; but, as far as the eye 
could reach and distinguish, the forest exten<led in hilly 
waves and billows. On the east, afar olf, was Blue Moun- 
tain. Northward we dimly saw mountains which we could 
not distinguish ; and on every side, forest and hike and 
hill and mountain stretched awa}^ into the distance. But 
the most beautiful sight vras below us — First, Second, 
Third and Fourth Lakes in the Fulton Chain— glittering 
links, indeed, as we saw them shining in the clear sun- 
light. 

Nothing rei)ays better in the woods than climbing moun- 
tains. The views from their sununits are not only exceed- 
ingly grand and beautiful, but one also gains a comprehen- 
sion of the vastness and the general features of the wilder- 
ness that nothing else can give. 

If we had any doubts about the pi-oprlety of taking our 
breakfast out of the water in the soberest and least' sports- 
man-like way, that Sunday morning, we had no misgivings 
whatever about our mountain church-going, when we re- 



176 BOONEVILLK TO SAKATOC-A, 

turned that evciiiuii- to camp, lull of the iulluences gathered 
on the heights out of the heavens around us and from the 
beautiful forest beneath. And although more than two hmi- 
di-ed years of ancestral Puritan blue blood and teachings How 
in my veins and conscience, and the venerated past lifts a 
very conspicuous finger of warning as to any infringement of 
Sunday sanctities, I am bold to declare that I went to bed 
that night and slept without a troubled dream from Puritan 
ancestor or from any otlier source. 

Monday, while John was doing up the morning's domes- 
tic work, the boy and I struck a bonanza in a pile of empty 
fruit-cans, left by some former occupants of our sylvan 
home. These we tossed into the water, and as they floated 
away before the breeze we practiced on them our skill in 
rifle-shooting. The "Punning Deer'' at Crecdmoor may 
be all very well in its w^ay, but give me, for a little exliila- 
rating sport, rifle-shooting at empty tin-cans floating out 
from shore, dancing on the waves, and scudding before the 
wind. "A hit ! a palpable hit !" is indeed palpal)le, for 
if 3'ou are a good marksman, your tin v^essel sinks like an 
iron-clad, when it is bored through and through. The 
staid and " much-experienced" John was happy to take 
half a dozen shots with us, and enjoyed demolishing a tin- 
can with as mucli delight as Ned himself. 

Then we went to " the marsh, " where, with the fl}^ 1 took 
thirty-eight trout in about tw^o hours. Of course, I lost my 
" biggest fish " — every body does ; but any ])ig fish knows 
how, in a small pool surrounded by lily-pads, to get most 
completely lost. 



SOUTH BRANCH AND NORTH BRANCH. 177 

Ou Tuesday, starting at noou, we made an afternoon trip 
to Little Moose and Panther Lakes, which lie in the course 
of the South Branch of Moose River. The first named lake 
is sm'rounded liy beautiful shores, and is a charming sheet 
of water. The day was too bright for good fishing, but we 
enjoyed rowing and exploring, and have pleasant recollec- 
tions associated with the lake. Panther Lake, a wild, 
lonely little body of water, is a gem of exquisite beauty set 
in the green of the forest. Out of the traveled course of 
tourists and sportsmen, without a sign of human occupa- 
tion, it is as purelj' a poet's dream of wildness and nature's 
own inner sanctuary as anything I ever saw. 

The carries were only seventeen minutes from First Lake 
to Little Moose, and six minutes from that to Panther 
Lake. John thought nothing of " backing " his boat over 
them both, going and coming, and rowing ou the lakes all 
we desired. 

That evening an incoming party halted at our camp and 
brought a letter, — the first and onlj' one we received during 
our entire trip across the wilderness. A rolling stone 
gathers no moss,-^and a roving fisherman gets few letters. 

An early breakfast on the following day — and at 8:30 A. 
M. we were off on another excursion, to visit the North 
Branch of Moose River. We went through Second and 
Third Lakes of the Chain, and into Fourth to the carry 
near Snyder's Camp, on the north shore, where we crossed 
over to "Carry Pond," five-eighths of a mile. John 
backed his boat, while the lad and I carried the oars, rub- 
ber coats, lunch, rifle and fly-rods. Crossing the Pond, — 



178 BOONEYILLE TO^SAEATOGA. 

and frigliteuing a flock of ducks on our way, — we made 
another carr}" of one mile to First Lake of North Branch. 
We continued up the lake and the river to the rapids, fish- 
ing at various spring-holes on our way. At the foot of the 
rapids we left the boat and went a little distance up the 
carry which leads to Second Lake. Be^^ond this is Big- 
Moose Lake, a famous and favorite body of .water for 
camp and sport. 

We had no marked success in flshing, during the day, 
but on our return to camp we lingered, as the sun was 
descending, at the outlet of Fourth Lake Avhere we always 
found trout waiting for our flies. We took our share, and 
went home satisfied with having made a ver}' interesting 
expedition. I mention these little excursions in detail, in 
part to show how easily one in camj) may visit many de- 
lightful resorts and break up the monotonous life one 
naturally falls into— however pleasant it may be — when 
settled down in one place. 1 greatlj^ enjoy seeking out new 
lakes and streams in the woods. There is an infinite 
variety in them, after all, and they each have individual 
peculiarities which any ordinary observer can hardly fail 
to note, and which bring new delight to the lover of woods 
and waters. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

A little more of the serene aud happy life at ' ' Stickney 
Camp," during- which I had almost forgotten that I was to 
cross the wilderness, and the migratory impulse came upon 
me. Already I longed for the charms of Seventh Lake, 
and the glories of the Kaquette, while Utowana, Eagle 
and Blue Mountain Lakes lured me in the distance. And 
the boy— he had never been quite content to sleep in 
John's comfortable quarters. Nothing short of tent and bed 
of boughs and out-of-door cookery, and lakes where there 
was no highway for parties coming and going, would 
wholly satisfy him. John, I was convinced, was conspir- 
ing with himself to make us so completely hnppy here that 
we would willingly surrender our projected journey further. 
He had " roughed it" enough, slept on beds of boughs in 
winter as well as in summer, until a mattress was good 
enough for him; and his kitchen stove Avas vastly more 
convenient than any open lire or any new-fangled affair 
that a sportsman might lug into the woods with him. On 
the one side, therefore, was the luxury of this present life 
at Stickney Camp, and John's unspoken but not unfelt per- 
suasion to remain. On the other, was my programme, 
deliberately formed, which urged me on like another 
Wandering Jew, aud Ned also, who teased and talked me 
wild when we went to bed and when we woke in the 



180 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

mornino; and during the day, — when John was absent, — all 
combining fo niidvc mc shake off the lethargy of hixury and 
go forth to new tields and fortunes. 

It was a delicate matter; but one day I unpacked mj^ big 
bundle and brought forth to John's gaze the tent I had 
l)rought, and the camp-stove — Hat as a pan-cake — that I 
had with much self-gratulation, invented and caused to be 
constructed; and then, diving down into the depths of the 
navy-bag, brouglit forth also the tin pail which contained 
a complete " kit " for stove and table. I' spread them all 
out before him. John looked at them, and I looked at 
John, awaiting in silence his verdict. Of course it was my 
right to order my own coming and going, and his, too; but 
I loved John, and I wanted to please him, and did not 
want to drag an unwilling guide through the woods, what- 
ever my rights were. He said not a word, but I saw that 
the hope he had cherished had gone out of his heart. I 
thought I perceived, also, a respectful and internal sniff at 
my pet and pride, the wonderful camp-stove. However, 
it was at length agreed that the next morning we should 
pack up and l^cgin (jvn- wandci-ings. 

It was half-past ten o'clock when John put the big key 
over the door and before we were tinally oft" — we three, and 
our entire luggage consisting of house and home as well as 
food-supply and personal effects, all stowed snugly away 
in John's boat. It w-as like leaving home. And the good 
roof and comfortable l)eds, the verandah with its memories 
of evening chats, the shady pines and spruces and hemlocks, 
the knolls and grass-plots where we had lounged, the 



FAREWELL TO CAMP. — EASTWARD HO! 181 

charming water and forest views, and even ^tlie chippery 
cross-bills that were as sociable and friendly as Adam's 
companions of the brnte creation, were all so many cords 
to sever. The bo}', however, severed them easily enough. 
He was the happy one of the party as we waved adieu to 
" Stickney Camp " and swept away over the waters with 
the strong, steady stroke of John's oars. My ej^es have 
seen " Stickney Camp" no more; but my dreams by night 
and b}' day, have many, manj' times re-lived the delightfLd 
life we spent there; and I hope for one more summer rest 
there m ith John and with not one, but with three sturdy 
boys. 

Stopping at Jack Shepperd's Camp a few minutes we 
replenished our stock of provisions with butter and Ber- 
muda onions. I cannot sing the praises of this vegetable 
too loudly as a good thing to have in camp. It fills the 
place of a dozen other things in the ineiiii of the wilder- 
ness. One, indeed, is entirely independent and may 
defy famine on a lonely tramp, or driven ashore l)y storm a 
dozen miles from camp, if he has one pocket full of crack- 
ers, and a half-dozen Bermuda onions stowed away in 
other pockets. 

When we reached tlie liead of Fourth Lake, (near which 
the attractive Pratt Canq) is situat(Ml, ) John i)ushed up the 
shallow and rapid inlet while Ned and 1 walked, only a 
short distance, to Fifth Lake where we again took the boat. 
This latter lake is a small and unattractive sheet of water, 
useful, mainly, as a link in the chain. From Fifth to Sixth 
Lake we made our tirst carry, three-quarters of a mile. 



182 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

John carried a pack-basket filled with provisions, his boat, 
oars and axe— a good load for an ox. The lad carried the 
"batter-pair' (with its germinal possibilities of unlimited 
pan-cakes) and a goodly assortment of small articles; while 
I struggled along under a pack made up of a bundle con- 
taining stove, tent, blankets and the navy-bag full of cloth- 
ing etc., etc., and rifle, rods, small bag, and pail containing 
our cooking utensils and table furniture,— in all uearly one 
hundred pounds. We thus carried everything at one trip, 
but it was too much for us, and we were wiser afterwards. 
1 had never so fully realized with what foi'ce the lieart can 
pump blood up through the arteries in the neck and tem- 
ples. I have great respect for the power of the heart, in 
a literal sense. And T know why a locomotive puffs so 
fiercely at the head of a long freight train on an up-grade. 
It is on a carry with a full load. 

Sixth Lake is small, also, and the passage from it to 
Seventh is difficult, but no carry is necessary. As we 
emerged from the narrow, crooked stream, the beautiful 
Seventh, bathed in the rays of the descending sun. greeted 
our glad vision, and we felt rewarded for all the toil of 
nearly four hours the sight had cost us. Without stop- 
ping to laud or select our camping-ground, we rigged our 
rods, and began seeking our supper. Sentiment and sleep 
were to come afterwards. The emergent necessity was 
something to eat. A promising sj^ring-hole ncai- the outlet 
gave us nothing; but, at the mouth of a stream putting in 
from the south shore, nearly opposite the foot of Big Island, 
in an hour's time we captured not only our supper, but an 



?iETENTH LAKE. — A GOOD CAiCP-SITE. 183 

abandaut breakfast. This, indeed, during our staj- at 
Seventh, was our favorite resort, and we never failed to 
have tine sport with the gamy trout that came up from 
the lake as fast as we caught out the belligerents already 
in occupation. There was abundant, open, clear water to 
play them in, and taking trout in such a place is, to my 
mind, the very luxury and perfection of fishing with the 
fly- 
Supper doubly assured by our success with our rods, we 
sought a spot for our temporary home. We had all the 
lake shore before us. where to choose, but there is a world 
of wisdom in choosing the right place. First of all. there is 
good, cold spring water to be thought of: then shade and 
dry ground : wood for camp-fire : a place not productive of 
mosquitoes, and one, if possible with other conditions, 
where the breeze will blow them away as fast as they come : 
trees likely to blow down upon 30U are to be avoided; 
reasonable nearness to good fishing resorts is desirable : a 
good boat-landing is to be considered: and last, but not 
least, when these necessaries of camp are provided for, the 
camp itself should command a pleasant and attractive 
view. 

We were fortunate in our camp-site in every one of these 
requisites, except that we did not find the cold spring, but 
were obliged to resort to a cool stream for drinking water. 
A stately grove of Xorway pines stands on a clear, sandy 
shore on the east, backed by a thick forest growth. There, 
about twenty rods north of the inlet from Eighth, we 
pitched our tent, planted om- stove, built our big fire for 



184 BOOKEVILLE ' TO SARATOGA. 

sociability and onr fire in the stove for cooking, and in an 
hour's time were housekeeping and eating witli keenest 
api^etite, and as comfortable as need be. After supper, 
vTohn took the boat and went off to a point covered with 
hemlock and soon returned with our bed in the rough, 
which we quickly, by trimming off the small twigs, con- 
verted into a fragrant couch. 

The cup of the lad was full. This was "real '»' camping- 
out. We sat around the evening tire, the elders smoked 
the iK'aceful pipe, and told stories under the august trees 
and the starry night, and then we stretc-hed ourselves side- 
by-side in the tent for the slumber that seeks tired and 
happy men. But the boy could hardly sleep for delight. 
It was his tir.st niglit in a tent in the woods on a bed of 
boughs, — and no veteran of camp and tramp in the forest 
will wonder that the young heart was running over with 
exhilarant feeling. But finally the hum of the mosquitoes 
outside of our netting, and the lap. Inp of the wavelets on 
the beach lulled us to sleep. 

There was, however, a little unaccustomed stretching of 
limbs in the morning. There is, indeed, more poetrj' 
than softness in a " bed of l)Oughs," viewed by morning 
light. But a swim in the lake, and a little racing up and 
down the sand beach in the " original Jacobs" bathing- 
suit, takes out all the kinks and kranks of a night on the 
ground; and if there is a stick or stone or knoll not exactly 
adapted to the curves of the l)0(ly, it is removed or reme- 
died and forgotten. 

The morning discovered to us neighbors. A thin stream 



NEIGHBORS. — OFF FOE KAQI^ETTE LAKE. 185 

of smoke shot straight up to the sky from the low 
trees on a point half a mile distant at our left. After 
breakfast we visited them. They proved to l)e two young 
men, mei'e boys they seemed, Ironi Orange, N. J., who had 
been fitted out I)}' Jack Shepperd, but had made their way 
hither from Fourth Lake alone. The marvel was liow such 
young fellows, apparently fresh from school, store or office, 
carried their boat and did the hard work which seems to 
require manly strength and trained muscle; but they did 
it, and were having a most enjoyable time of it. We found 
them continually referring to " \\"allaces Adirondacks " 
and Ely's map, and with these as their only guides, they 
were successfully making their way toward Kaquette . 
Lake and remoter Avaters. 

If our life at Stickuey Camp had been peaceful and rest- 
ful, this at Seventh was not less so. The sunsets, viewed 
from the shore in 'rout of our tent, as we looked down the 
lake and around upon the mountains and forests, were 
pictures for the ])ainter, and themes for the poet. " Sev 
enth " has been lauded by many an enthusiastic admirer. 
I should never tire of adding my tribute of praise to its 
almost peerless beauty, if I did not remember that I have 
seen so much to adnnre in the lakes and forests of the Adi 
rondacks that I must reserve something of my enthusiasm 
for other scenes. 

Days too few of perfect weather and pleasant sport and 
charming life we spent here; and reluctantly but in obedi- 
ence to programme, one fine morning, we struck camp, 
packed our luggage and household goods, house and all. 



186 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

went aboard of John's staunch craft, and boldly set out for 
Raquctte Lake ; with a lirm belief, however, that we should 
find uothiui; better in our journeying in the wilderness than 
the Fulton Chain had proved to be to us. 

It remains to be added, before we have said a final adieu 
to this region, that years ago " John Brown's Tract " and 
"The Fulton Chain " attracted a large share of the atten- 
tion of sportsmen and tourists ; but that Headley, Murray 
and others turned the great tide further to the north and east, 
and for several years, of late, comparatively few, except 
from Utica, N. Y., have been accustomed to follow the 
charming old paths into the great wilderness by way 
of the Moose River Avaters. As a consequence, much of 
the pristine excellence of that region has been restored. 
With all the rest of the well known resorts this has suffered 
much from the vandalism of tourists and local hunters and 
fishermen; and something of the grandeur of the more 
mountainous regions, north and east of it, is wanting. 
But trout and deer have multiplied as sportsmen have 
turned their steps elsewhere, and some of the lakes are as 
beautiful as any in the woods; while there is enough of 
mountain scenery to continually delight the tourist. One 
is certain, moreover, not to be jostled by Saratoga trunks, 
nor to be reminded in these secluded retreats of the whirl 
and fashion of the outer woi'ld which for a season he has 
fied. 



. CHAPTER XX. 

As a preparation for the hard day's trip from Seventli to 
Raquette Lake, after our regular breakfast was completed, 
John had made an enormous pile of pan-cakes for lunch 
on the way. We were on the water and on our journey at 
half-past nine o'clock. About a mile up the inlet from 
Eighth Lake we encountered our first carry of the day, of 
one mile. Eighth is one of the largest lakes in the Chain, 
and has mountainous and finely wooded shores, remarkably 
clear water, and is attractive in every respect. Crossing 
this lake we came to the formidable carry of evil renown, 
of a mile and a quarter, from Eighth to "Brown's Tract 
Inlet" running into Raquette Lake. The day was very 
warm, our loads heavy, the way somewhat rough, and 
there was a deal of hard work under a noon-day sun; but I 
think the carry bears a worse reputation than it deserves. 
It is a standing rule of guides on "this side " and on " the 
other side "—West and East sides of the woods— to abuse 
the passage across the dividing line between the two sec- 
tions. A sportsman is never advised that it is easy to go 
over into the rival guides' territory. This unhappy carry, 
therefore, is berated east and west, right and left, until the 
traveler in either region is forced to believe that it is not 
feasible to extend his journey "across the wilderness." 



188 BOONEVTLT.E TO SARATOGA. 

It was one o'clock when we reached the landing on the 
hank of the Inlet and lunched. John, as usual, after the last 
mouthful was eaten, fumbled in his pockets for his brier- wood 
pipe. Alas! it was no where to be found! And he had no 
other. Every smoker will understand the situation, and ap- 
preciate the extent of the calamity. John remembered that 
at a certain point, half a mile back on the carrj^, while trudg- 
ing along under his boat, he had knocked out the ashes from 
his pipe, but could not for the life of him remember what 
next happened to the precious thing. AVe went back ovei' 
the route, carefully examining every step of the way, stir- 
ring up the leaves and bushes, and were I'eturning hopeless 
from our search, when by good forlune John discovered 
his pet. 

" I vow," said he, as he tilled the bowl and lighted the 
tobacco, " ril never come into the woods again with onl}" 
one pipe." 

The Inlet is a narroAV, deep stream, winding down 
through a most desolate tamarack swamp, and entering 
Raquette Lake through a tree-less mai'sli, — as distressingly 
desolate a scene as one often comes ui)on in the wilderness. 
Sojourners on Rafpiette are prone to attribute to "John 
Brown's Tract" the uninviting characteristics of the Inlet; 
and with this before their eyes and the terrors of the carry 
dinned into their ears, it is not surprising that they al)andou 
all hope or desire to visit what the}' conceive to be "John 
Brown's Swamp." 

It was with sensations of exquisite delight that we 
entered Raquette Lake, renowned and glorious and deserv- 



TIAQUETTE LAKE. 189 

ing- all its renown. We saw before lis a body of water 
twelve miles in length, with irregular points of land pro- 
jecting from either side and running far out into' it, making 
a most remarkable configuration of shores. It contains 
eighteen islands, most of them bold and rocky, and some 
of them exceedingly beautiful. The lake has, from 'its 
.size, an open look and a semi-civilized air unlike all tlie 
smaller lakes, and very striking to one emerging from dense 
forests. In sweeping around a point, one almost expects 
to come upon some quiet town or farm-house on the ]my. 
Take it all in all, it is as magnificent and beautiful a sheet 
of water as one maj' (wcm- hope to see in the wilderness. I 
must add, however, that upon tlie large lakes the winds 
sometimes sweep witli terrilic I'orce and there is danger of 
wreck in the small l)oalsin comnion use; and that the fish- 
ing pools tire so far apart that one often wishes, before 
the long row is over, that the lake were smaller. I 
confess a superior liking for the smaller lakes. They are 
often as beautiful, although not as magnificent, as even 
Raquette in all its marvel of shores and islands and pel- 
lucid water. 

We landed at Constable Point, where tliere is an excel- 
lent spring, but the trees have been cut otf, and the want 
of shade makes it undesirable for a warm weather camping- 
ground; and we went on, across the lake, past Osprey 
(Murray) Island to the foot of the hill at " Wood's Place," 
long since deserted, not far north from East Inlet, or 
Marion River. Here we set up our tabernacle on a grassy 
spot well shaded by several large trees, near the shore, with 



190 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

good water not far off, and one of the finest views of the 
lake before iis. From the hill behind us, we frequently 
gazed with unceasing delight upon scenes of forest and 
lake and sunset which would have inspired an artist or 
driven him mad at the unapproachable, unreproducible 
beauty, grandeiu- and loveliness before him. To the woods- 
man alone is all this reserved which brush and pencil at 
best can only faultily suggest. And it is pitiful if the blue- 
shirted fisherman who camps on such shores and amid such 
scenes is not also in spirit something of the poet and the art- 
ist. Nature is waiting here for the glance of her true- 
lover's eyes. 

Ill short order, — for we were very tired and hungr}', — 
tent ;ind stove were up, supi)er agoing, our bed of boughs 
made, and we were " at home" again. It was surprising, in 
moving camp, what a genuine home feeling a little cotton 
cloth in the shape of an A tent gave us, especially when, 
at the sami^ timt', the aroma of the coffee-pot ascended to 
our nostrils. We also l)uilt our "sociable fire" just Ijelow 
the bank near the water's edge, and after supper stretched 
ourselves on the grass or leaned against the trees near it; 
and while we watcheil the simset, and then the coming out 
of the stars, and the camp-tires across the lake, we talked 
over tiie events of the day and the elders smoked the even- 
ing pii)e of content and peace. The day had l)eeu, on the 
whole, a rather hard one for us all. John had uncomplain- 
ingly l)orne the heavy loads over the carries and rowed 
many miles. I had drawn all the drafts on my bod}' that 
it would honor. And Ned, begging for heavy burdens — 



REST FOR THE WEARY. 191 

for he was proud to be a genuine woodsman — had bravely 
borne them, staggering up and down the hills and over 
roots and logs and bogs. But the fatigue of such labors is 
easily dispelled in camp. Pure air, plain food and the 
indescribable something of life in the woods speedilj' re- 
establish the disturbed physical equilibrium— for it is purely 
physical fatigue. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

The next morning came hot and bright. yVe visited 
Soutli Inlet where, under favoring circumstances, there is 
notable tishing. l)ut we took no tish. While we lounged 
in the shade, on the rocks at the foot of the rapids, and 
w^atched the play of the red-tins w-itli our trailing flies, two 
parties arrived, on their way to camp at 8hedd Lake. One 
sprucely dressed young fellow had loaded down his boat and 
guide with camp-kit, Ijrand neW' rifle, rods, paraphernalia, 
impedimenta, luggage and baggage enough for a dozen men. 
He w^as a dry-goods clerk from New^ York, — and this w^as 
his first experience in camping. His guide, fraternizing 
with John, wdio helped him up the bank witli the mon- 
strous pile of stuff, (piile prof anel}^ characterized "liisman" 

as a ' ' fool. " The other party w^ere old campers, and WT're 

quietly on their Avay across the carry, taking everything at 
a single trip, long before the Clerk had completed his in- 
ventory of his own multitudinous "traps." We learned 
afterw^ard that his guide traveled all the afternoon, back 
and forth, and that even then the task of transporting "his 
man's " baggage was not completed, and they slept at a 
temporary shelter on the carry. 

On our way back to our tent, we called at Chauncey 
Uathorn's open boarding camp in the pleasant pine grove 



HATHORN's camp. — TO FORKED LAKE. 193 

on the Yellow Sand Beach of South Bay. It is a notable 
and unique camp, veiy pleasant, convenient and M'ell con- 
ducted by a genuine woodsman who knows how to draw a 
bead on a deer, write a charming- account of it, and to keep 
a hotel, — a combination of accomplishments which makes 
it worth the while of the tourist to be his guest, if he does 
not care for more primitive camping or the responsibilities 
of forest house-keeping on his own account. 

Another day we made an excursion to Forked Lake, 
passing through the northern and large, open portion 
of Raquette Lake. We had scarcel}-^ got well under way, 
when a lieavy thunderstorm descended upon us in a blind- 
ing fur}^ of waters. Pushing for the nearest shore, we 
landed upon Dog Point (wherefore " Dog" Point, I know 
not) where, most fortunately, we found an open bark camp, 
whose occupants were absent. We took possession and 
lounged and smoked under the goodlj^ shelter vmtil the 
storm ceased. It is tlie fashion of the woods for guides and 
sportsmen to make free use of all camps as the}' may need, 
in an emergency, faithfully abstaining from any misuse or 
al)use. And the hearts of true woodsmen are as open as 
their liark camps, and their hospitalities as free as the air. 
A curmudgeon has no business in the woods, but if he has, 
I think he will shed his shell in a week. 

Forked Lake is reached b}' a short and easy carry, much 
like a country' road. We spent most of the day in alter- 
nate sunshine and showers, rowing up the main inlet from 
the west, where we fished with indifferent success, and also 
to the north end of the lake. The shores are of singular 



194 BOONE VILI.E TO SARATOGA, 

form, points from either side projecting as if to meet each 
Other, and bays opposite to each other, setting far back 
into the land. Tlie effect as one passes northward is very 
surprising and very fine. Tlie entire sceneiy of the hike, in- 
deed, is very attractive. A single hut or hunter's home, occu- 
pied a i>art of the time b}^ "Captain Parker," a notable 
character, was the onl}^ sign of human habitation or pres- 
ence. All else was as wild and untamed as Nature made 
it. When we crossed the carrj" on our return we found, 
just arrived, three Poughkeepsie boys, guests of Chauncey 
Hathorn, on their way to Long Lake. All three, with their 
luggage and provisions, were in one small boat rather the 
worse for age and wear. They were without a guide, and 
the way was new to them all. The wind had risen, they 
had several times been driven ashore by storms, it was 
raining and almost night, and they had become somewhat 
alarmed at the risks they were taking, and wholly dispirited. 
To add to their discomfort, the lire the}' were attempting 
to cook their supper by was princii)ally steam and smoke. 
It was the forlornest picture imaginable. We gave them 
our catch of trout and parted from them with serious 
apprehensions for their safety. However, we learned 
afterward that young blood, pluck, perseverance and Yan- 
kee " faculty " took them through all right. 

Our return to camp was against a strong wind and 
through heavy waves. John was silent, and watched the 
water intently as he rowed with all his strength and skill. 
I was anxious and uncomfortable. But the 3'oungster — 
the Mark Tapley of our party on all occasions — was par- 



BASS-FISHING BY MOONLIGHT. 195 

ticularly delighted. However, all's well that ends well. 
We reached camp safe and sound, untied the tent strings, 
— the only lock on our cloth house — and the boy and I 
stretched ourselves out to rest while John prepared the 
hearty meal which a day's work demanded. 

After supi)er, I saw that John was evidently wanting 
something besides his pipe. 
"What is it, John?" 

" AYell, you know where you saw a bass jnmp for your 
fly, the otlier day " — 

— " And didn't take him, John ? " 

"That's what's I'm thinking. — that he's waiting to be 
taken now. If 3'ou are not too tired, how would you like 
to give him another trial? " 

" John, I'm not the one to talk of being tired, after such 
a supper as you have given us; and if you want to, we 
will go." 

"You know," said John, "as I was telling you the 
other day, that I helped bring the ancestors of these bass 
over from Booneville to this lake, four years ago. I have 
never seen a bass caught, and have never eaten one. I'd 
like right well to do both." 

"All right, John; — come on, Ned, you siiall have your 
chance at 'em, too." 

The wind had gone down with the declining sun, and 
the lake was again smooth and gentle. We were speedily 
on the ground where an evening before I had seen a bass 
leap. Tlie boy drew first blood and landed his fish. I fol- 
lowed with a little fellow; but evidently the bass of trout 



196 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

waters regarded the proceedings as a violation of the fitness 
of tilings, and parted companj- with iis after a brief ac- 
quaintance. We started camp-ward, and while passing by 
moonlight between a certain island and the near-at-hand 
sliorc, a tingerling bass, in its flight from an enemy beneath 
the surface, leaped from the water and struck the boat. 

" Hold on, John! 1 nuist have a cast here! " 

" What! l)y moonlight ?" said .lohu, in surprise. 

" Yes, I have taken bass by moonlight ^^'hen I couldn't 
see my flies strike the water under the shade of the trees." 

I cast, and the fly was taken bj" a fish that instantly 
showed his vigor. John watched the bold leaps and play 
of the bass, untill I finally swung the line around to him, 
and he took off two bass, one weighing a pound and a quar- 
ter, and the other half a pound. That satisfied John, and 
we hastened on to camp and went to bed. wholly content to 
sleep without dreams, no matter how pleasant. 

\\ hen I sleepily opened my eyes in the early morning, 
and put aside the flap of the tent, I saw John on a broad 
rock jutting out into the lake, making a careful ^jos/ mortevi 
examination of the stomachs of the ])ass we had taken the 
night before. VVhile he cooked them he told me more, I 
confess, about their food than I, an old bass fisherman, had 
ever learned from original investigation. As we ate the 
delicious fellows, I })arti ally forgave John for being a party 
to the iniquity of stocking these waters with bass, and thus 
adding one more enemy to the precarious existence of 
salnto foiUinaUs. That the lake was pretty well stocked 
was evident from our own experience and that of other 



CAMP AMONG THE BIRCHES. — CAMP VIEWS. 197 

fishermen. We saw, caught hj others, several bass of 
about two pounds' weight each. I know that it is disputed 
that these fish will drive out the trout, but I greatly fear 
the result of the experiment will be that Raquette Lake 
will cease to be the home of the gamiest and prettiest fish 
that swims the water. 

From our tent on the beach we could see, across a beau- 
tiful stretch of water, the smoke by day and fire by night 
of a camp opposite. We one day visited this camp, charm- 
ingly located among the birches, and found a party of 
ladies and gentlemen and fine lads, ten in number. Some 
were swinging in hammocks, reading or scAving; one gen- 
tleman was perched, with a book in his hand, on a boulder 
out in the water; while others, with whom we fraternized, 
were about the camp-fire, with the guides, talking deer 
and trout, and watching the preparation of supper. The 
entire part}^ with gtiides, at one time numbered twenty- 
six, they told me, and their friends were coming and going 
when they chose, as the encampment was to continue sev- 
eral weeks. Thej^ had seen our white tent and camp-fire 
across the water, and the swingle boat putting out from 
shore, and with a glass spied the l3oy; and they gave us a 
generous welcome. 

Murray's Island is but a few minutes' distance from our 
camping-gi-ound, and a little to the left of our view in front. 
Its rocky, bluff shores and heavy forest growth make a 
pretty picture any day, but as the sun declined, the strong 
shadows on the water, contrasting with hoary ro(;k and 
green forest, were something bewildering in their fascina- 



198 BOONEVTLLE TO SARATOGA. 

tion. Occasionally, too, the smoke rose, around the point, 
above the trees, from the cabin of old Alvah Dunning. 
He had built his rude hut at the foot of a big tree, at the 
edge of a clearing Avhere Mr. Muri-ay rormerly camped, 
and cultivated potatoes and a few other vegetables after a 
very rudimentary fashion. His only companion was his 
deer-hound. 1 want to speak very respectfully of Alvah, for 
he lent us a board for a table ; but Ned Buntline thought 
he was "an old scamp " and drove him out of this part of 
of the wilderness, a few^ years ago, liy some remarkably 
close rifle-shooiing. When Ned ceased returning to his 
"Eagle's Nest," Alvah came back again, and now lives his 
hermit life without fear of the avenging w rath w hich was 
kindled by the theft of a boat, committed by somebody. 

Of a sunny afternoon, as we lay on the grassy shore, we 
occasionally saw^ new parties going to camp at the north 
end of the lake. The gay flotillas sometimes gave the stars 
and stripes to the breeze, and as the}" passed camp after 
camp, a lusty voice called out in resonant tones for all 
within hearing, ' ' United States jMail ! Letters and papers ! 
Who are you?" Responding, to the call with our names, 
"No mail!" or "Letters!" as the case might be, would 
be answered back. 

Sometimes, parties of two or three came to our landing a1 
the foot of the old and deserted "Wood's Place," to pick 
berries on the hill, and Ave had pleasant c;hats with them. 
Two young fellows left their gun, which they apparently 
alw^ays took with them, standing by our favorite big tree. 
The next day they returned for it. 



"it. S. MATTi!" — CAMP ROBP.ED. 199 

One morning, two ladies rowed over from the camp on 
Beacli's Point with letters to send out, saying that the}" 
learned through the guides that we were going to Blue 
Mountain Lake in a day or two. 

After a day of hard work, we took matters very easily the 
next. On one of these "lazy days," we tished an hour for 
bass, and then called at two camps on the north side of 
Long Point — "returning calls," which was not a merely per- 
functor}" performance ])ut a substantial pleasure. One of 
these camps was in dismay, for there had been a theft com- 
mitted of a large part of their stores, and a journey to Blue 
Mountain Lake House was necessarj^ to replenish them. 

"Alvah?" 

"No; it was a pair of scoundrels that came in by way of 
Long Lake, — some border ruffians in here on their own 
account. Thej" know we suspect them and have gone out 
of the woods faster than the}" came in. " Whether ' ' White" 
said this or " Smith," I cannot remember. 

We had been accustomed daily to leave all our stores and 
bulky valuables in our tent, merely tying the flaps together 
in front to signify that we were ' ' not at home, " and we 
felt entirely safe doing so until this incident. The guides are 
p#rfectly honest, so far as I ever saw, but some of these 
border-men who straggle into the woods are of quite 
another sort. 

The other camp, in tlie thick woods up the hill a few 
rods from shore, was wholly professional, being occupied 
by three reverend gentlemen and a lawyer, all in genuine 
sportsmen's blue and gray shirts. We found them sitting 



200 r.OOXKYTLLE TO SAT^ATOfiA. 

on the ground with their backs to their favorite trees, read- 
iug. They dropped their books, greeted us heartily, and 
gathered around us as tliey offered us a liiHoek for a divan, 
and we chatted pleasantly of college friends of theirs whom 
I happened to know. 



CIIAPTEK XXII. 

The last niglit l)f*forf our departure from Raquette Lake, 
we experieneed one of the fierf;est of Adirondack storms. 
The rain, wind, tliunder and lightning and dashing of 
waves were really frightful, in the pitchj' darkness of mid- 
night ; and I trembled l)j the hour for the staunchness of 
cotton cloth and tent-ropes and the firmness of tent-jx-gs. 
Tlie force of the stf)rm of both rain and wind was at its 
i.ighest at about '4 oflock A. ^I. I had been awake for a 
long time, startled almost momentarilj' by the crash and 
roll of thunder and the vivid lightning, and the tierce 
beating of the rain and wind. I more than half expected 
that at anv moment our frail tent would Ije swept bodily 
away, leaving us prostrate under our lilankets, exposed to 
the full force of the storm. It seemed as if it would never 
cease. It raged more and more tiercely. Suddenly, when 
the rain was dashing in heaviest toiTcnts and at the height 
of the gale, I heard a snap and a flapping as if a sail had 
torn loose from the yards, and felt a heavj' gust of wind on 
my face. Throwing off the blankets, I jumped up as if I 
had heard the yeU of a panther at my ear, and rushed to 
the front end of the tent. A loosely fixed tent-peg at the 
opening had been drawn, the strings holding the curtains 
had snapped like threads, and the curtains themselves 



202 BOONEVn.T.E TO ^AEATOGA. 

were flapping and snapping in the wind like a whiplash. 
There was imminent danger that our cloth house would 
" inflate " like a balloon and "go up " and off into the trees 
behind us. However, I managed to seize the curtains, and 
shouted to John, who was now as wide awake as L to light 
a candle. He took a heav^- boot and with the heel drove 
the tent-peg firmly into its place, we fastened the curtains 
securely, and then let the tempest howl. We pulled on 
our bouts, to prepare for emergencies, fearing still that the 
tent would blow away, and crawled under our blankets 
again. But the gale gradually subsided, and we at length 
fell asleep. 

That was a famously uncomfortable night outside of the 
tent, but we really suffered nothing inside, except from our 
fears. Xed did not suffer at all, however, for he regarded 
the whole affair as • perfectly jolly." 

We awoke to find the rain still falling. Breakfast was 
taken in the tent, with a boat seat on a pail for a table, and 
our bed for chairs, while John prepared our meal outside 
as best he could. 

•John," said I, as he brought in an extra pile of pan- 
cakes, as broad as the frying-pan, " ' what would you have 
done, if the tent had blown off last night in the rain :•' " 

"Done? Why, Id 'ave stood behind a tree and muled it 
out "till morning! " 

We spent the forenoon in " muling it out ' in the tent, 
making up lost time in sleep, studying the guide-book, try 
ing to read a pocket copy of Tennyson, and occasionally 
dashing out in the rain to catch the signs of the weather. 



FOLDED TENT. — OFF TO BLrF MOU^fTAEC. 203 

Finally, at noon, the rain ceased, the wind subsided, the 
sun came out as serene as Xeptune emerges from the waves 
after a storm : and we resolved to break camp, after dinner, 
and go to Blue Mountain Lake. 

Our stay at Raquette Lake had ]»een xery agreeable in 
many ways. We had seen royalty in the lake itself. The 
sunset views from the hill behind us were beautiful almost 
beyond comparison and quite beyond description. We 
had wandered about, to our heart s delight and content, upon 
the waters of that and Forked Lake: and we had seen and 
visited the camps of very pleasant people. But Ned never 
admit? that the Raquette is to be compared with Seventh 
Lake: and he declares he will never go in the wtxxis again 
where so many other people go. 

Dinner over, we again folded up our tent and stove, 
packed our blankets and diminishing stores, bade good-bye 
to the grand old trees under which we had rested in safety 
and comfort, rowed around to Dunnings landing and 
delivered over to him the board which had served as our 
table, and then shaped our course toward the mouth of 
Marion River, Avhich flows in from the east and is the out- 
let of Utowana. Eagle and Blue Mountain Lakes. 

After a few days upon the large lake, I was glad to be on 
a river again, near the forest on either side, and sometimes 
among the lily-pads where the deer had fed the night 
l>efore, or perhaps that very morning, as we could plainly 
see. There was a quiet restful ness in the air and the sur- 
roundings, a sense of peace and secmity, a close contact 



204 BOONEVILLE TO SABATOGA. 

with primitive Nature herself, tliat were very grateful and 
satisfying. 

There is a single carry of half a mile, much traveled and 
easy, between Raquette and Utowana lakes — the only one 
we w^ere obliged to cross that day. The j(Mu-ney through 
Utowana and Eagle lakes was charming. On the northern 
shore of the latter, is a comfortable farm-house aiul a nidcly 
conducted farm of forty or fifty acres. Vic saw a number of 
cow^s feeding in a pasture sloping down to the shore, — a 
sight which savored so highly of civili/.al ion that 1 involun 
tarily attempted to adjust my neckerchief, which had 
wandered around under my woolen shirt collar from one 
shoulder to the other at its own free will, all (he way from 
Old. Forge. We saw Ned Buntline's old home, "The 
Eagle's Nest," a substantial little house of hewn logs, which 
stands near the shore and in front of the neat, white far- 
mer's cottage of later growth. 

Pushing and winding our narrow way up llie shallow 
and rocky inlet, we entered Blue Mountain Lake, and gazed 
upon a water view of surpassing loveliness. This, among 
smaller lakes, is what the Raquette is among the larger. It is 
three miles long and two wide. Says one author, in endeav- 
oring to convey some idea of its beauty: " Numerous islets 
and islands of various forms and aspects, some frowning 
with adamantine sternness, others smiling in robes of charm- 
lug green, lie in its waters.of translucent purity like agates 
and emeralds in settings of burnished silver. To traverse 
the winding water-courses formed b}^ these picturesque 
groups, is to penetrate a labyrinth of intricate and bewil- 



BLUE MOUNTAIN LAKE. — HOLLAND'S HOTEL. 205 

dering avenues. The loveliness of the lake is greatly 
enhanced by the wild and majestic scenery surrounding it. 
Mountain peaks on three of its sides display their sid)linie 
fronts, and prei^niinent among them is the noble dome from 
wdiicli tlie lake derives its name." 

We quickly crossed tlie lake, and at al)ou1 si.x o'clock 
ran the prow of our boat upon the sandy beach in front of 
John Holland's hotel, on the south-east shore, walked up 
the winding path among the trees, and were again in a 
house. Ladies and gentlemen, young men and maidens, 
and merry children were in the parlors and out among the 
forest trees ; while on the broad verandah or piazza, sat and 
chatted and bantered a number of guides and woodsmen, 
among whom were "Captain" Calvin Parker of Forked 
Lake, and the famous Indian guide, modest and faithful old 
Mitchell Sabbatis from Long Lake,— to be joined an hour 
later by the redoubtable Alvali Dunning himself. 

We had intended to go into camp again here, l)ut there 
was good promise of rain before morning; it seemed very 
pleasant and protitaltle, in its way, to mingle with these 
original people congregated at the hotel; I M^as greatly 
attracted Ijy a good, kind, child-hearted old Doctor of 
Divinit}' upon whom 1 bestowed the entire contents of my 
medicine chest, carried in my vest-pocket; the seductive 
influence of a comfortable arm-chair moved me more than 
it is sportsmanlike to confess; Ned had had about all of the 
"real thing" that he cared for, although he would not 
admit it; John was doubly willing to surrender his suprem- 



206 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

acy as chief -cook; and so we left the tent folded up, and 
took rooms at the hotel. 

After supper, we took a final ride with John out upon the 
lake, for, on the morrow, we were to part with him; he to 
return westward, we, in a day or two, to go eastward. The 
ride was a little melanchol}^ because it was our last with 
John, whom both the lad and I had come to warmly regard 
as a i)ersonal friend. He had been as true and fa'ithful as a 
brother, and so strong and wise and discreet that in all our 
experience with him, in our long journey and camping, 
there had not been an accident, mistake or mishap. 

The rain came, sure enough, while we were on the lake. 
We went ashore on an island. John drew his boat on land, 
turned it over, with one end up on a limb, and we sat and 
talked the rain out in entire dryness and comfort. 

Even Ned confessed to some satisfaction, when we 
removed our clothing and went to bed in sheets again. 
But he could hardly sleep. " Do you think we shall ever 
see John again? " said he. " I never want any other guide 
but John." Silence for a while; — " How old do you think 
John is?" more silence; — " Do jou think, when I've grown 
up to be a man and come to the woods, that he will be too 
old to come with me as my guide ? " 

But we were tired, and, after our wakeful night in a 
storm under a tent, very sleepy; and even "John" was at 
lenath forgotten in the mvsteries of slumber-land. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

With the morning, we arose from om- conch thoroughly 
refreshed, not a vestige of fatigue, aclie or languor remain- 
ing. We sadly shook hands with John, and he started on 
his long way alone across the lakes, down the winding and 
lonely streams and over the hard carries, toward Stickney 
Camp, and on to his home,— only to come back again in a 
few days, with other sojourners in the wilderness, but not 
to be "Our John" again, perhaps, for many, many a day, 
perhaps never. May the years rest lightly on his wise head 
and on the brave true heart! And may the last "carry" he 
makes, as he goes to the Unknown Shore, be easy and light, 
and bring him safe to a good "Camp", where there shall be 
no night nor storm! 

We availed ourselves of an opportunity to make the 
ascent of Blue .AEountain with a party of gentlemen at the 
hotel, and their guides. The mountain rises nearly 4000 
feet above the level of the sea, and is a conspicuous figure 
in the landscape for many miles, from every direction. We 
had gazed upon its brow bathed in blue, when on Bald 
Mountain. We had seen it when out upon Raquette Lake. 
We had caught glimpses of it on winding streams. It now 
reared its huge front right above us. The mystery which 
seemed to dwell on the rugged heights fascinated us the 
more, the nearer we approached this grand Sphynx of the 

wilderness. 



208 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

We made the ascent in an hour and a half, the latter part 
by a path uncomfortably steep and becoming, near the top 
of the mountain, a rough stairway of roots and rocks. It 
would both look and be dangerous if it were not for the 
trees and bushes which partially hide the roof -like declivity 
behind you and prevent you from sliding or rolling far if 
you stumble or make a mis-step. Just where the steepness 
of the ascent ceases, stands the pine tree up which, on 
cross-sticks firmly nailed upon it, Kate Field some years 
ago, and before Colvin's signal station was erected, bravely 
climbed to obtain a desirable outlook. Passing this point 
northward, perhaps half a mile or less, along the back bone 
of the mountain and still rising, ( although we found a 
swampy depression in our path, ) we came to a " timljer 
slash " of ten or fifteen acres, where the trees had been 
felled to give an unobstructed view in every direction. In 
the midst of this opening, founded upon primeval rock 
which bears the surveyor's cabalistic charactei-s ineradica- 
bly sunk into the solid mass, is erected a tall, steeple-like, 
skeleton structure of strongly-braced timbers, on the top of 
which is fastened the signal of bright tin, which can be 
seen flashing in the sun many miles away, from valle}^ and 
mountain peak. This is one of the man}' "signal stations" 
erected by Verplanck Colvin to aid in his great work of 
surveying the wilderness by triangulation. 

Upon these timbers we climbed, and perching theiv, 
twenty feet from the rocks beneath, gazed in every direction 
upon a wonderful scene. Until then we had never properly 
conceived of the grandeur of this remarkable region, nor 



SIGHTS FROM BLUE MOUNTAIN TOP. 209 

of the " general plan " of the inoimtains, lakes and rivers 
of the Adirondack wilderness. It is forest, every where, 
and mountain, lake and river repeated on every hand; and 
all these ai'e seen, 1 imagine, with something of the effect 
produced upon tlie mind of the beholder by looking down 
upon these features of nature from a V)alloon. 

< )n the south and east, we saw mountains and valleys and 
the •' Indian Clearing," and the silvery, winding courses of 
Cedar and Indian rivers. At the west, we looked down 
uiK)ii Kaquette Lake apparently broken up into half a dozen 
lakes by the projecting tongues of forest; and beyond, upon 
liald Moimtain and forest without entl. Long Lake and 
ForkcHl Lake were almost at our feet. Owls Head ^loun- 
lain, its bald brow bare in the sunlight, seemed not far off; 
but beyond, the caravan of huge, elephantine backs moved 
olf in procession toward the Canadian line. Turning our 
gaze to the north-east the grandem- of the scene was almost 
overwhelming. The true Adirondacks were before us — 
the almost impenetrable region of mountain heights and 
gloomy chasms; the region of territic storms; where 
mountain peak bellows defiance to mountain peak in the 
thunders that rock even the mountains in their sui)ernatural 
force and fury. As far as the eye can reach, this grand 
mountain range extends, — its gloomy fierceness softened to 
the eye by the blue haze and the floods of sunshine resting 
upon the huge backs and shoulders and brows, but made 
thereby even more shaggy, fierce and terrible to the imagi- 
nation which defies the air and sun, as haze and sunshine 
cast their robes over the sleeping patriarchs to hide their 
awful ness. 



210 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 

Close at hand, too, we looked down into clear and peace- 
ful little ponds and lakes, nestled at the mountain's 
base in the undisturbed forest, and secure in their insignifi- 
cance from invasion l)y sportsman or lumber-fiend, and as 
beautiful and opalescent as pearls from the Orient. 

Our descent from the moiuitaiu, quite as trying to the 
muscles as the ascent, was accomplished in one hour. AVe 
lost our trail among the charred trunks of trees where a fire 
in the dry earth had prostrated several acres of the forest; 
and we experienced all the woes of a wretched scramble 
through an indefinitely enlarged brush-heap. Ned and I, 
however, still had vigor enough to spend an hour after 
supper in rowing on the lake and winding in and out among 
the charming islands, — a fitting complement to our day's 
experience on the mountain top. 

Our last day in the wilderness was ended. 'That night 
we repacked our bags and bundles; and as w^e did so, 
thoughts of work and study, home and domestic life, and 
of the great, noisy, dusty, busy, fretting and worrjing 
world outside were borne in upon us, — for the next morn- 
ing w^e were "going out." 

AVe w^ere called at 5:o0 A. M., breakfasted, and at 6:30 
o'clock started for North Creek by an "extra," a three- 
seated "buck-board" stage, which comfortably accommo- 
dated five of us besides the locally renowned Mr. Wakely 
of " Wakely's Dam," who undertook to deliver us at North 
Creek, the northern terminus of the Adirondack Rail-Hoad, 
thirty miles distant, in time for dinner and the 3 :30 P. M. 
train ; and he did it — although at the imminent risk and 



OUTWARD. — NOKTH RTYETl. — SARATOGA. 211 

eminent discomfort of his steeds. Wakely, a man of 
remarkable force and energy, doubly earned his reputation, 
that day, as a man to be depended on in an emergency, — 
but I pitied his horses. 

The road for ten miles, through tliick woods, was muddy 
and heavy, (although very good in drj- weather,) and we 
proceeded at the rate of three wearj" miles every long hour, 
until we reached Jackson's. For the remaining twenty 
miles tliere was a good road through a partiall}' cleared 
countr3\ winding around among the picturesque mountains, 
with manj" hills to climb and descend. The red raspber- 
ries, just then in their prime, grew by the road-side in won- 
derful profusion and excellence. While Wakely was urging 
his tired horses up the hills we tumbled out and, plunging 
into the bushes, "ate and ran " in a most ludicrous fashion, 
— visions of a train departing from one side of North Creek, 
as we approached on the other, stimulating our pace as we 
seized a last handful of berries and leaves and ran with all 
our might to the top of the hill and mounted to our seats 
without waiting for the horses to stop. 

Finally, the little town was reached, the puffing of the 
locomotive greeted us with an old familiar sound, the veri- 
table North River — the original Hudson — rolled its rapid 
current at our feet; and our journej" " through the wilder- 
ness " was completed. There was, however, an interesting 
rail-road ride to Saratoga, where we took a sleeping car, 
and woke up at home. 



j^if^AJMBEF^F^Y J^/^KE 



AND 



THE OSWEGATCHIE WATERS. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

Early in the summer of 1878, there were frequent mys- 
terious gatherings of about a half dozen men of various ages 
and occupations, in tlie little back room, upstairs, over 
Reuben's store on 8alina street. Finally, one day early in 
July, when the pavements were growing hot, a strange 
collection of bags, boxes, bundles and packages of all sorts 
appeared in the rear room of the store, and then disap- 
peared by cart for the railroad depot, and away to the 
north. 

On Saturday morning, July 6th, the whole conspiracy, 
concocted in the little upper room, came out, and the papers 
got hold of it and duly reported that by the 5:15 train 
north, that morning, a ''lively party " of sportsmen left for 
a fortnight's sojourn in the "North Woods;" the party 
consisting of the venerable and genial angler Reuben, whom 
we had duly made Captain and Commissary, the Senator, 
the Sheriff, the Mayor, the writer who had been invested 
with the double office of Treasurer and Scribe, and the 
Junior, — to be joined at llermon by the 'Squire, a jolly Jus- 
tice, both witty in himself and a cause of wit in others. 

We had planned to spend two weeks on the Oswegatchie 
AVaters, in St. Lawrence County, making our central camp 
on the shore of Cranberry Lake, cruising up and down the 
lake and the Oswegatchie River which passes through it, 



216 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHIB. 

and visiting adjacent waters if we should find it agreeable 
to do so. 

To the 'Squire, as being " to the manor born" and famil- 
iar with men and measures in tlie region we were about to 
peacefuly invade, were committed the important details of 
employing guides, fixing upon the location of our camp — 
with positive instructions to see to it that an abundant and 
cold spring bubbled near it — and arranging that transpor- 
tation should be furnished for ourselves and our rather 
formidable bags and baggage. As a further precaution 
against a waste of time and comfort, the Junior, under 
orders from the Captain, preceded the rest of the party, 
two or three days, with all the heavy baggage, to prepare a 
reception in camp for men who expected to be very tired 
and hungry at the end of a long day of heavy traveling — 
for we firmly resolved to reach our destination the night of 
the very day we left home. 

We duly assembled at the station and lunched, and the 
Captain lighted a cigar. At Watertown we breakfasted, 
and the Commissary smoked a cigar. The Scribe's^ recol- 
lection fails as to the number of raih-oad changes we made, 
at each of which there was a anxious gathering up and 
transfer of rods, rifles and bags and bundles of the smaller 
sort ; but it is a historical fact that none of us were lost or 
left, and that, on counting the respective noses of the party 
at UeKalb Junction, there wasn't a vacancy. By stage to 
llermon, six miles, was a hot and dusty ride through an 
unattractive country. The 'Squire was hunted up and 
found, as l)usy as a C-ountry Justice could be, at his little 
oflEice. 



OFF FOR CRANBERRY LAKE. 217 

Dinner over, at Hermon, the collective Captain and 
Oomniissaiy smoked. We all wrote and mailed our fare- 
wells to the vain world l)ehind nsi, and left our names witli 
the telegraph operator, with explicit instructions to hunt us 
U}) wllitllersoe^'er we should wander, if telegrams came, 
and to send means to bring us out of the wilderness, all or 
singh^ as the case should require. 

The strong vehicle which was to convey us, with the 
sturd}' steeds fresh for the long journey, wheeled up in 
front of the hotel ; our luggage was deposited therein ; the 
last things were looked after ; — but the 'Squire had to be 
hunted up again. He was found, and we all got aboard. 
But the 'Squire had forgotten his lantern and cigars, and 
went off in search of them. After some further waiting it 
was evident he was lost again, and again we hunted him 
uj>. He had a faculty of not staying found a great while, 
all through the trip. Reuben smoked, and a-hemed! He 
was nervous at the delay. The veteran of many an expe- 
dition had learned how precious mid-day moments are. 

Finally Ave were actually all aboard and off, in one jolly 
load, at 1:20 P. .AI.. bound direct for the foot of (h-anberry 
Lake, thirty six miles distant. The Captain lighted a 
fresh cigar as Burnham cracked the whip, and we shouted 
our good-byes to the assenil)led village men and boys on 
the hotel piazza, and rolled dustily out of town forest- 
ward. 

It was a hot day, the road rough and up and down hill, and 
it was O: P. ^L, when we reached Clarksboro, twenty-two 
miles from DeKalb Junction and well into the woods. 



218 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHEE. 

Horses and men were tired, the dinner of trout and Venison 
was bountiful and good, — and there was something so deli- 
cious in the air and scenerj^ of this forest-flanked, mountain- 
girt and nearly deserted little hamlet, once bus}^ and noisy 
with the industry of converting the rich ore of this region 
into iron, — the way to the lake through the dark woods 
was long and rough, — indeed, there was no help for it, 
much as we regretted the delay, and we concluded to remain 
over night, and finish the coming fourteen miles of our 
journey in the cool, earh' morning. 

Something of the day, and its most comfortable por- 
tion, was left to us; and we enjoyed and emploj^ed a 
part of it in strolling about the deserted iron works, and 
inspecting the large buildings filled with slowly decay- 
ing charcoal, the heaps of valuable ore, the disjecta membra 
of heavy and costly machinery, and the falls, on the very 
brink of which the dam for tlie iron works had been erected. 
Here was another of those wrecks of great business enter- 
prises where "somebody blundered,'' — the blunder in this 
case being in forgetting the cost o'' transporting a ton of 
iron over a crazy, wooden rail-waj^ out to civilization. 
The iron is there in al)uudance and of excellent quality, 
w^ood is plenty enough for charcoal to reduce the ore, — but 
the ruin of the " Clinton Iron Works" tells the rest. 

Having all dulj^ philosophized, and lamented the folly of 
this enterprise, our thoughts turned to more cheerful 
themes. The Captain lighted his seveuteenthl}^ cigar, 
jointed his rod, and, — followed by us, admiring disciples 
of the piscatory art as practised well nigh to perfection by 



CAPTAIN AND SENATOK GO A-FISHING. 219 

our wortlijr chief , — went down back of the little hotel to 
the river where it is broad and calm after its plunge over 
the dam and down the fall. A small, narrow, fiat-bottomed 
boat was secured, into which got tlie Senator who essaved 
tlie oars, and the Captain who was to catch the trout. 
There was altogether too much weight of dignity in one 
end of the craft, and weight of bodv in the other end, for 
safet3\ The cockle shell rocked and dipped. The Captain 
couldn't swim a stroke. 

"Take me asliore, Senator!" cried the Captain; "we 
shall spill out of this thing, certain! " 

"Oh, no," said the Senator, taking another hitch on the 
seat to balance the boat; " we'll be all right in a minute." 
But, as he said so, in came a hotel pitcher full of water, 
the Captain issued Ids most peremptory orders, and the 
Senator, who doesn't like a wetting himself, shoved back 
to the shore. Procuring a small, bare-foated bo}^ — a sort 
of tug to an ocean steamer — the good Captain again duly . 
bestowing himself in the stern of the ticklish craft, with 
his little spiderdike fellow at the oars in place of the Sena- 
tor, moved beautifully forth, (alas! there was no artist in 
our company,) casting deftly right and left his choicest 
tlies, all about the pool, under the rocks and trees, up to 
the very foot of the descending sheet of the river ; but cast 
he ne'er so deftly, not a rise did he get. Still he smoked 
and still he cast, and lustily now, and gently then, did the 
small boy ply the oars; and the slowly descending sun 
winked and wooed, and insects hummed and skimmed 
and dipped in the dimpling water; but never a trout glad- 



230 CRANBERRY LAKE.— THE OSWEGATCHIE. 

(leued the vision of the veteran, and not a break of the sur- 
face encouraij^ed us who stood and lounged on the shore 
and admired and waited and nijide elal)orate jokes. The 
Commodore (for so we voted him, while the boy defied 
correct designation ) finally furl — reeled in his line, gathered 
in his unavailing flies and came ashore. There Avas 3'et 
light enough, and we followed him, in a clambering wa}', 
to some supposed fishing grounds above the dam among 
rocks and eddies and pools, where trout ought to have 
been but were not. They were off, for the hot weather, at 
the cool spring-holes. 

It is not the duty of the Scribe to record here the 
whispered consultations and conspiracies, that evening, 
among the well informed of the part)'', in regard to him of 
the vocal nose and his allotment in the doubling-up at bed- 
time made necessary by our limited accommodations. 

At four o'clock in the morning we were up, breakfasted 
as soon as possil)le, and were off again, in good order and 
excellent spirits, but decoroush-^ mindful that it was Sun- 
day morning — a matter which our jovial Captain, in par- 
ticular, nev(n- forgets whether in the woods or out. The 
cool, fresh, dew}" forest and pure, woods}' air were deli- 
cious; and the roa<l itself, by day-light, was reall}' quite 
good. At ten o'clock we reached " The Dam," at the foot 
of Cranl)erry Lake, where the Junior, already transformed 
into a typical woodsman, met us with boats and guides for 
taking us to camp. Howevei-, a small tub of a steam-boat 
was at the l)ank, awaiting a party, Chester S. Lord, of the 
New York Sun, and others, who arrived just before us; 



WE REACH OUR CAIVIP. 221 

and by their kindness we took passage up the lake with 
them, six or seven miles, and were landed near our already 
built camp on East Bay. We found three tents erected 
and fitted up as our bed rooms, a bark store-house for our \wj;- 
gage and supplies, and an open, bark-roofed dining room 
furnished with a long table of boards. Two camp stoves 
outside were dimly smoking and prognosticating the com- 
bined dinner and supper for which we mightily yearned. 

Finally, our hunger appeased, we were in mood to con- 
sider our suiToundings, while, in a Sunday-like way. we 
lounged about the tents or strolled by a winding path 
leisurely down to the w^ater's edge. Our camp Avas new 
and clean, — no mean consideration, — in the dense woods, 
about tenor twelve rods from the water up an easy ascent, 
and from which, after the intervening underbrush and 
lower limbs of the trees had been cut away, we looked out 
upon East Bay and the lake beyond and two or three 
small islands. A spring of pure, cold Avater bubbled up be- 
tween the rocks by the path from wliich, arriving at camp 
or departing, it was a lu.xury to drink whether thirsty or 
not; while a little way oil" was another si>viiig. deep and 
abundant for all the wants of our forest household. 

The Lake is about nine miles long, varying from one to 
perhaps four or five miles in width, and in shape much like 
a huge, ragged stomach, through which the waters of the 
beautiful Oswegatchie River pass from the south and on 
their devious northerly way to the 8t. Lawrence. 

The dam at its foot was built and is maintained to gather 
water with which to swell the river below^ at certain 



222 CKANBEERT LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHIE. 

seasons of the year, when logs are to be floated down to the 
mills In the settlements; and the flow is regulated by blocks 
placed above each other in a strong, framed sluice-way, and 
which are put in or hoisted out by machinery, as the water 
is to be raised or lowered. It makes the lake, in fact, a 
large reservoir, greatly enlarging it, setting the water back 
in the streams, into the coves and bays and over the low- 
lands, and everywhere drowning and killing the trees on 
the flooded lands and along the shore. The ghostly forms of 
leafless trees, stretching their helpless arms aloft, stand in 
groups and phalanxes here and there in the wide waters, 
and a heavy, ugly fringe of like dead trees lines all the 
shores; while trunks and limbs and uptoru stumps, tossed 
and ground and woven together by the waves among the 
standing trees, make a landing exceedingly diflicult. In 
front of our own camp, the labor of two men for a day was 
nccessar}^ to make an opening both safe and ample for our 
use. The scenery, of course, is seriously impaired. The 
low descending fringe of green, seen on other lakes coming 
down to the clear, open water's edge, is here wanting; and 
the eye grows weary ol" dead tree-tops and drowned forests. 
But on nearly every side the grand old hills and mountain 
brows lift themselves up with coronal fronts of forest 
green; the bright waters and wavelets gurgle and murmur 
around the rapid craft of the hunter and the flsherman, and 
the balm and purity of the perfect air of the forest are here 
as elsewhere a continual delight. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

Our first uiglit in the tents was glorious in its slumbers. 

" Hemlock feathers " for beds, and blankets and mosquito 

bars made us entire 1}' comfortable; and the deep stillness 

soothed us more gently than music itself into speedy and 

utter forgetfulness of all the fatigues of our journey. With 

the early dawn the Captain emerged from his tent, cigar in 

mouth, impatient to seize and ply his rod. With stentorian 

voice he roused the sleepy guides who, not yet having built 

their own camp, had stretched themselves for the night on 

the ground about the camp-tire, without bed or blankets. 

lu an instant every man of us was wide awake. That 

voice of command was new to us. Later in our camping 

experience it came to our ears and passed as a troubled 

dream, and we slumbered on until the magic word " break- 

« 

fast! " was shouted into our tents. 

' ' Up and dressed " is a phrase which means something 

when only one's coat, hat and boots are removed for the 

night. A wash basin on a little mound, a piece of soap on 

a chip, and a towel hung on a limb, a pocket comb, in the 

morning — and in a twinkling, if breakfast is waiting, the 

toilet is made. A morning plunge in the lake, and the 

delicious sensations of the loving touch of a thousand soft 

and almost intangible arms bearing you up and caressing 



224 CRAKBETIKY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATriTTE. 

5"on, are the reward of early risino;, wliich you may liave 
for the asking M'hen camping in the woods by lake or 
stream. 

The guides were, most of them, 3'oung, vigorous, good- 
liearted and, withal, rather noisy fellows. Our company, 
all told, now consisted of our party, seveu in number, and 
six hearty guides. Thirteen hungry men to f,eed, distant 
from a base of supplies, with a lot of harum-scarum young 
fellows for cooks, and with a given quantity of groceries, 
was the problem with which the Commissary grapjiled and 
wrestled that morning, with a clear apprehension of other 
mornings to come, as he went hither and thither, directing, 
helping and alwa3's smoking; and before our two weeks 
were u]) the problem floored even him. Figures won't lie, 
and his were not at fault; but careless waste spoils the 
most generous mathematical calculations. 

The most noted tishing ground near us was ' ' Brandy 
Brook," a stream of fair size and ver}' cold, coming into 
the lake from the east, a little north of us, and gathering 
something of its surprising coldness from Edgar Mountair^. 
To this stream, in two boats, went the Captain, the Senator 
and the Sheriff, About sixty-five large and beautiful trout 
were taken; but these gentlemen greatlj^ bewailed the 
roots, snags, dead limbs and trees that obsti-ucted the stream 
and made fl)^ tishing a mournful proceeding. On their 
return to camp, that evening, the Captain, who is an 
admirable story-teller and illustrates like a born panto- 
mimist, with great glee related the story of the Senator's 
experience. 



THE SEXATOK " YANKS !" — BRANDY BROOK. 225 

The Senator, with light bamboo, and after an honest and 
ox'ntlemanly fashion, was seeking to entice mlmofoniinalis 
with his flies, casting skillfully among limbs and snags, 
but quite unmindful of what might hajipen if a trout 
should seize the line. There was a leap, a turn of the 
wrist, and the Senator had his tish, a fair sized one, well 
hooked. The wily trout plunged under roots and snags, 
wound the leader and flies round and round, in a mazy 
way, int(^ an inextricable snarl. The rarest skill couldn't 
save him ; and after a little he was free, but triumphantly 
trailing behind him a portion of the leader and flies. 

" Senator," said the Captain, who in another boat had 
intently watched the contest, "that style of fishing won't 
do here, — there are too many things lying around loose ; 
when you hook a trout you must just yank Mm right out I'' 

The Senator had his bamboo and his sportsman's in- 
stincts, and they were both alike opposed to this ; but the 
results of gentlemanly fishing were so far all in favor of 
the party of the second part. In a moment he struck an- 
other fish. 

"Yank him out! Lay down your rod and yank like 
blazes I" cried the Captain in great excitement, as he saw 
what a fine fellow it was that leaped. 

The Senator was excited too. He threw down his rod in 
the boat, seized the line, -and hand over hand pulled for 
dear life and victor3'. 

"Do you call this fishing ! " fairly groaned the Senator. 
A pull— 'Blank this style of catching trout 1" Pull— 
"Come out of here I Blank, blank, if I ain't ashamed " — 



226 CKANBEinn' T.AKE. — the OSWEOATriUR. 

pull — ''of this whole" — pull — " blauk business. There I 
Fv^e got you I but, blank the whole blank business ! I feel 
as if 1 had been stealing sheej) : blank nie if 1 don't ! Let's 
go to camp, Captain. — T don't think I eaiv to tish if j'ou 
call this tishing I " 

The rest of us went up the P>ig Tnlet at the head of the 
lake, through the tloodwood and dead standi,ng trees — at 
some places very difficult of passage after leaving the 
main body of the lake — fully nine or ten miles from camp, 
to the foot of the rapids where the Oswegatchie comes 
tumbling into the dead water. Not a trout did we take in 
all that day, althcmgh we saw some large fellows leaping 
in sport. It will not do for the scoruer to insinuate that 
the fault was in the tishermen, — rather let it lie laid to 
proverbial fisherman's luck.— for the Captain and the 
Sheriff, whose skill needs no vindication, subsequently' had 
there precisely the same experience. 

It was the general understanding of the party, — a sort of 
unwritten law, as binding as the English Constitution, — 
that the "good places" should be passed around ; and by 
virtue of this law the Mayor and I were permitted to lish 
Brandy Brook the next day, under a sun that broiled and 
roasted after a most vigorous and emphatic fashion. The 
Captain and Sheriff had devoted several hours vof faithful 
labor to removing obstructions, so that there were various 
open spaces and reaches of water where lly casting was 
feasible. We fished as skillfully and devotedly as we 
knew and with genuine ardor, ascending the flooded por- 
tion of the stream to the "quick" water. At the close of the 



THE mayor's tictoky. 227 

day it ^vil.s ftjiind that I was beaten in the count by one 
trout. My friend cauglit one and saved him ; and I had a 
controversy witli a single trout, he on one side of a log and 
I on the other, in which he came off and got off best. That 
fish lamented a lacerated mouth, and I a quarter-of-a- 
pound trout. 



("lIAPTEPv XXVI. 

All the way from the little upper room to East Bay. Ave 
had heard the praises of Grass River simg by itiembers of 
our party who had been there in former years. Trout 
were to be had there, large and plentiful, almost for the 
asking. Lines could be laid in pleasant places, and tlics 
cast in many pools where lurked the eager and gameful 
fish. The true angler's heart in every one of us yearned 
for this promised land and its countless Avealth of genuine 
sport. But the way thither involved toil and trouble which 
even the most ardent sportsman among us dreaded to en- 
counter. The time, however, for decisive action of some 
sort had come, for the thirteen men of vigorous appetite 
had consumed the one little trout the second day's fishing 
had brought to camp, and clamorously asked for more. 
The fish of Grass River, it was said, were fair, — but it was 
conceded in the same breath that only the brave deserve 
the fair. Then it was that the Sheriff and the Scribe arose 
and declared themselves to l)e the truly brave men of the 
party, and stepping out from the hungry ranks volun- 
teered to go forth as a forlorn hope. 

On the morning of the third day we set out on oiu- ex- 
pedition to these happy fishing grounds. Taking with us 
two excellent guides, Ed. Young and George Sawyer, 
and provisions for two days, Ave jiroceeded down llu; lake 



GRASS RIVER. — JOE BOLIO. 229 

to Thomas's Hotel, three-fourths of a mile above the dam, 
on the east shore, carried one boat over a quarter of a 
mile to Silver Lake, as beautiful a little sheet of water as 
was ever made ; and then we safely crossed this lake, four 
of us and our luggage, bestowed in Young's little Rushton 
boat 13^ feet long and weighing thirty-eight pounds. We 
pushed on through the woods to Owens's Plains — an open- 
ing where one John Grimshaw, in a forlorn way, cultivates 
a few sterile acres and tarries to "grow up with the coun- 
try," — and struck Grass River at the falls, about two and a 
half miles from Thomas's. In the woods we were caught 
in a heavy thunderstorm, but, putting on our rubber coats, 
we trudged patiently and persistently on, — the only genu- 
inel}' contented personage of the four being the guide who 
carried the boat over his head. Crossing the river above 
the falls on big stones in the river bed, we entered a .second 
growth of spruces so thickly grown and interwoven that 
we were obliged to cut our way with an axe. Emerging 
from this, and going on easterly, we at length came to a 
good woods-road running from the Grass River Reservoir 
out to Colton, and reached the Reservoir at half-past two 
. o'clock in the afternoon. 

Joseph Bolio, a black-eyed, wiry, voluble little Canadian 
Frenchman of Yankee speech, keeper of the dam, furnished 
us with a good dinner and his society. Somehow jMcking 
up the fact that there was a lawyer in the party, he sought 
an interpretation of the game law as to killing deer, which 
might bear favorably upon a " little dithcully " he had had 
with the authorities, out in the settlements, resulting in lii< 



280 CRANBERRY LAKK. — THE OSWEGAT( IIIK. 

arrest. However, as lie had executed a fleet and skillful tiauk 
inoveineut just at the nick of time, and Avas now vigilantly 
observant of all new comers in his domain, and knew the 
woods thereabouts and their by-ways and retreats better 
than any other living man, he was in no special need of any 
suggestions, of a strictl)' leg^l nature, to promote the law's 
delays, further than to " keep his eye peeled." The Sheriff 
had to have his little joke smacking of his court room ex- 
perience, and dryl}' remarked, "that's the best peal for 
Joe!" 

Procuring another boat after dinner, we set out on our 
journey up the river. Joe thought we might pick up a 
trout or two in the Reservoir before we came to the flood- 
wood. Ominous words! but they fell unheeded on our 
ears, and we jointed our rods and selected our choicest flies 
— for were we not going up Grass River? 

Alas! the water had been drawn low ; we speedily reached 
the flood-wood, — acres and acres of trees, great and small, 
hemlocks and spruces, torn from the l)anks above and dri-ven 
by the rushing waters of the Spring freshets into the basin 
through which we were to And our way. The surface was 
nearl}' covered, but there was a passage somewhere if we 
could find it. It was so intricate, however, that we often 
mistook it and were led into places where retreat was the 
only way out; and we lost much time and strength in 
wearih^ forcing our boats in and out among tree-tops, logs 
and tough, drowned alders. We at length were through 
the trees, but a worse calamit}" befell us in the drowned 
alder swamp, through which we were often compelled to 



"no thoroughfare."— "i'ye been here!" 231 

push and pnll our way by main force, guided l)y tlie slight 
signs of l)rol<;en or rubbed limbs where other boats had 
sometime preceded us, Init as often going hap-hazard, on 
a "bee line," in the general direction up-stream, the per- 
versely crooked channel utterly lost. 

Words fail to adequatel}' describe our journeying through 
this wilderness of difficulties. For nearly four hours we 
toiled and struggled up the tortuous and uncertain way, 
hunting for the main channel and often finding our.^elves 
in a "pocket," — a case of "No Thoroughfare," with no 
friendly sign-board, — and then backing out or pushing with 
all our force through acres of dead alders. At length we 
entered a little stream comparatively free from obstacles. 
The Sheriff, "who had been there." declared that we had 
missed the river and were entering a branch from ]\Iassa- 
wepie Lake. The sagacious guides argued from the "lay 
of the land " and the character of the woods that this must 
be the rivei-, w liilc wliat appeared to the Sheriff to be the 
river-bed— the entire valley being flooded— was only a l)ay. 

" I tell you again, boys," said the Slieriff, emphatically, 
" Fve l)een here before, and tliis isn't the river. We shall 
bring up in Massawepie, sure, if we keep on." 

•'Well, Sheriff." I ventured to say. '.' 1 have never been 
here. I dout know Grass River from the Euphrates, by 
occvdar demonstration, — and Fm not likely to. if we don't 
get out of this everla-sting swamp before dark; but 1 can 
tell you one thing,— these guides generally know pretty 
well what they are talking about, when it's a trail or an inlet 
or an outlet or channel that they are hunting for. Better 
' U'ive 'em their head,' Sheriff." 



232 CRANBERRY LAKE. — TIIE OSWEGATCHIE. 

" No, — I've been up Grass River befori', and this isn't it, 
— I'm for turning- back and tryinu' another course." 

Tlie SlieritT has a host of u'ood traits, and ])ersistence in 
his opinions is one of them; — but Ave lost a u'ood hour of 
day-biiht in fruitless .search o\' another channel, to gratify 
him. and at leuiith puslied doubtfully uj) the narrow stream 
we had at first entered. Familiar landmarks s(M)n ai> 
peared. and then avc knew Ili;il alllionuh well in'the wood- 
we were by no means lost. 

■' r>oys. I own npl" at leniilh said the SheritV, as the 
truth dawned on his nund. ' I'm a cidi»rit of the tirst 
water. This is Grass Kiver, and no nuslake! I dont 
believe I know nuich about the woods after all. If any 
body insists on duckimi: me for that extra hour of hard 
work, I'm read}', — I shan't makt^ any resistance." 

The ^tream was now within its original banks, twisting 
about as if in pain, and nearly cro.ssing itself in its aindess 
sauntering down the bi-oad valley. Tiie huge, bare front 
of " r>urnt Kock " — a welcome land-mark — frowned down 
upon us as we crept by its foot; and at seven o'clock we 
reached an old bark-.shanty, or ojien camp, which the 
Sheritf recognized as the one once oecujned by him for a 
noon-day rest. Here we stopped for the night, "as tired as 
tired could be.'' We had li'ied the lishing in the river 
below at a few points, after reaching cleai' water, but with 
out success; ami our supper, eaten with a keemiess of aj) 
petite that made it royal, cojisisted of only colTee, crackers, 
chee.se and onions. We were caminng on Grass Kiver, but 
were troutless! 



RAT HOLE CAMP. — COUNCIL. — RETURN. 233 

The guides built a rousing fire, wc dried oiu- cloUiing 
which was saturated with perspiratir^u from our severe toil, 
smoked and rubbed on tlie tar-oil; and the Slieriff and I 
crawled into " Kat-ilole Cami»," (a snug fit for two.) while 
the tired guides tlirew down a few lioughs on two sides of 
the fire, (I piled up a few l)ushes to keep the wind off from 
them.) pulh'd on llieir coats and hats, and lay down to 
sleep without roof, bed, pillow or blanket. 

In the morning, l)efore breakfast, I took a boat and went 
up the river, fisliing on my own account, with a lofty 
ambition to vindicate the fame of Grass Kiver wliich liad 
suffered su<h dire humiliation the day before. At call, 
I came back with one fingerling. At breakfast we 
held a council of war. We Avere right in the heart of 
that wonderful fishing country which we had heard praised 
so highly, and the fish were not. The water, we decided, 
was rapidly going down as the result of drawing off . the 
Reservoir, and if we remained a few hours longer we might 
have great ditTiculty in getting out of this inhospital)le re- 
gion ; and, further, we were doul)ly satisfied that the trout 
had gone somewhere — ])ossibly upstream, among the 
alders, in which case we could not reach tliciii, pndmbly 
down to the flowed lands, where it would be an impossi- 
bility to find them. We were forced to the lugubrious 
conclusion that the drawing off of the water had so 
changed the conditions that the splendid fishing of the 
year before, which the Sheriff and Captain had enjoyed, 
was ruined. This was not an exceptional case, for good 
fishing changes localities at different seasons of the year, 



234 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHIE. 

but quite as often at the same season, with more or less 
water, or with higher or lower temperature. Witli a trout's 
powers of loeomotion he has a vigorous fanc>' for making 
himself comfortable in the best places. Grievously dis- 
appointed, and not without expectation oH a full chorus of 
"I told you so! " with variations, from our comrades, when 
we should again reach them, we reluctantly re,solved to 
turn our prows toward the home-camp. 

After concluding our meager l^reakfast, the Sheriff and 
his guide pushed on down to Bui'nt Rock to begin his fish- 
ing there, and twenty minutes later, after the water was 
quiet again, my guide and I dropjied slowly down stream 
while I cast carefully over eveiy fyot of water where a 
trout might lurk. I soon struck a little pool from which I 
took ten small trout, — all the inhabitants of that place, I 
imagine, — and then we slowly proceeded until we overtook 
the Sheriff. I caught but fourteen trout in all, but was 
elated that I had beaten the Sheriff, mj^ acknowledged 
superior in angling. 

Down stream w^e went, and tlirough tlood-jams, drift -wood 
and alders, with which we were now painfully familiar, 
to Bolio's again. While waiting for dinner, we tried our 
luck in the swift water, eddies and pools in the river below 
the dam, but without a rise. It is evidently the place of 
all others for Spring fishing, but July fishing is quite 
another thing. After dinner another sturdy tramp, and we 
reached the falls. The water from the lleservoir had raised 
the river until the stepping stones of the day before were 
no longer available, and we w^ere boated over the bay 
below the falls. 



TRPUT-POOL. — "in may." ^85 

Here was the most promising pool for a kisty trout with 
which my eyes were ever gladdened. The water came 
tumbling and tearing down the beautiful river among the 
boulders, and by a sloping fall slid swiftly into the basin 
l)elow, around which stood large forest trees with thick 
undergrowth down to the water's edge. It was beautiful 
in itself, and delightfully enough situated and environed 
to be, under the surface, a very Garden of Eden for the 
trout family. I knew better,— but, while waiting for the 
boat, which the guides had taken across the river above, 
and off into the woods, before they knew of our inability 
to cross,— I rigged my rod; and standing upon a shelving 
rock almost in the middle of the stream, yielded to the 
temptation which I knew was a delusion, and cast my 
prettiest and longest. It was of no use. This was not a 
spring-hole, and no trout in good society would so far for- 
get his position as to remain in town after the first of July, 
—or admit that he was at home if he was unable to be off 
at the Summer watering places. The hermit of Owens's 
Plains told us, however, for our comfort, of marvelous 
catches in this same pool — ''in May.' 

As we climbed up the river bank and emerged from the 
forest into the clearing, we were astonished to tind the 
jovial, careless and happy 'Squire, quite at home, talking 
with Grimshaw and exhibiting a large trout. There he 
was, in his shirt sleeves, with his rod and his one trout, 
without coat, blanket, provisions, boat or guide. 
"Lost again, 'Squire?" 
<'^o —I'm here; and what's more, I've got the boss trout, 



28t> CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWE<",ATCIITE. 

genllomeul That's tlie kind of trout you want to be catc-li- 
inir; — it's tlu' kind 1 take when I actually li'o a-tishinii-, my- 
si'lf, and not nuMvly uo alouii' for company. "" 

" Well, wlu're on earth did you cc^nie from, how did you 
U'et here, and \Yhere did you u'et your trout ? " 

" One thinu.- at a lime, ii'entlemen. I came from Cook's, 
below the dam. Left liiere this morninii;. Fisiied up the 
river, and just uof here, liftecn mimiles aii'o. waitinii; for 
somethinu" to turn up. ^'ou"ve turned up. and I'm ndii'hty 
glad of it, for I'm as hungry as a Itear, — I am. C^rimshaw 
has just sent for a drink of water, but I'm afraid of water 
alone. — 1 am. Haven't you got something that '11 take the 
malaria out of it?" 

"No, — we don't carry the article; — but, 'S(j[uire. how 
about the trout — the biggest cue we've seen in all these 
parts? " 

" Well, I got him in the river, down here. Big one, 
isn't he! Oh, he's the boss trout!— that's the kind I catch 
when I reallj' go a-tishing, I tell you. ' And he stuck to 
his stor}'. The " bottom facts " had not then come out, 
but of those, more ancm. It was a fact, however, well 
enough known in camp, that the ' Squire was the poorest 
fisherman in the part3^ — and just how the "boss trout" 
fell to his lot was the mystery on which we pondered and 
about which there was expended that night, aroimd the 
smudge fire, an unexampled amount of fun and railler}-. 

Taking the ' Squire in tow, we came on to Thomas's to- 
gether, procured another boat, and finally' reached the 
home-camp completely exhausted — the Grass River trip 



« ORASvS IlIVER TIIIP ENDED. 237 

ended. The Slierif!', who had been one of the chief sing- 
ers in the anthems about Grass Kiver, was very unhappy. 
His song was now a wail. As for me, to return alive was 
cau.sc enough for rejoifing, and besides, I had seen the 
worst tlie wilderness has to offer. But I. must add, to be 
just even to Grass Kiver, that it is the Dam ("with a l)ig, 
big I),") and Ihe Reservoir that make the region we visited 
the most desolate I ever saw in the woods; and that the 
river l)elow the Reservoir is as wildly beautiful as the heart 
of man can desire. 

A night's rest, in the woods as well as out, puts new 
courage in the heart. The general filling of things that 
night, on crawling into our tents, seemed very much like 
sawdust. The ne.xt morning, however, everything wa.=? 
glorious again, like the sunshine. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

During; our absence tliere had l)eeu most persistent and 
skillful lisliiug at Brandy Brook, but with " uuac'countable 
misses,"— <* la Creedmoor. Indeed, that stream was a prob- 
lem and m3'ster3^ Trout of fabulous si/e leaped and played 
there daily before the e3^es of the eager C'aptain, Ijut with 
hardl}' an exception, after the tirst day, thej^ refused every 
proffered tly and bait of every description. The Captain 
and the Senator, both veterans of the angle and ecpial to 
almost wwy emergency in the art, were hopelessly baffled in 
all their efforts. The}" discussed those perverse trout up and 
down, horizontal!}' and diagonal!}' ; recalled and applied 
all known facts and principles relating to the habits and 
disposition of the trout family; tried, convicted and duly 
sentenced tliem to be caught; and demonstrated each night, 
before the full council of the camp-fire, that they of neces- 
sity must succumb on the morrow to a shrewdly chosen or 
newly concocted allurement. But each morrow the trout 
woke up witli a new kink of their own, whereby the plans 
of these valiant fishermen were brought to naught. Reu- 
ben might smoke, and smoke, and thunderously " Ahem!" 
as he nightly pondered over the perversity of Brandy 
Brook trout; the Senator — as keen in a trout-hunt as in an 
argument in a law^ court — might elucidate the principles 
w^hich, according to undisputed testimony, guide the salmo 



BRANDY BROOK TROUT.— DOWN THE RIVER. 339 

family, and forge a chain of logic which, 1)}' all precculents, 
they could not break; the Sheriff, with grim grit and mul- 
titudinous tackle, might hunt them with the detective's re- 
lentless vigilance and sagacity; but it was all in vain. 
Those noble fellows of Brandy Brook leaped and rolled 
their broad, spotted, shining sides in the sun, andgandioled 
like lambs on the hill-side; but the}^ refused, with an an- 
chorite's virtue, every tempting oifer, flapped their tails at 
logic, and eluded the stealthy hunt with double the (h'tec- 
tive's skill. Rarely, to be sure, one was cnught. and upon 
examining his stomach to learn what his royalty fed upon 
tliat he had grown so great and so hauglitily indifferent, it 

was found to contjun nothing The Captain, to this 

day, with a slow and significant shake of the head, main- 
tains that the mysterious conduct of a Brandy Brook trout 
" beats all!" 

But it is comforting to believe that every evil fortune 
has its compensations. The ill-luck of the Grass River 
expedition and tlie taiilaiizing failures at Brandy Brook 
gave us both food for wise meditation and a broad and 
shapely cloud U)V the silver lining that we were about to 
behold— besides fvu-nishiug a new illustration of proverbial 
fisherman's luck. 

Some of our party had been to the river below the lake 
and reported, on their return, successes which inspired a 
general exodus from tlie home-camp. The next morning 
after the Grass River experience, five of us, Avith guides, 
went down the lake and below the dam foi- two days' fish- 
ing; leaving the Captain and the Sheriff in camp, still un- 



240 GRANBERRT LAKE. — THE OSWECIATCHIE. 

willing to abandon the contest at Brandy Brook. Three of 
the live Avent down the river to Cook's Spring-Hole and 
several mikss further, realizing their fondest hopes. The 
Mayor and 1 spent the tirst day at Basin Brook, a little cold 
stream putting into the river from the southerly shore, 
about half a mile below the dam. It is navigable for 
small boats only about a quarter of a mile, after ^ which it 
creeps around among the overhanging aldei's in such a be- 
wildering and contracted way, that in the cool shades and 
among the holes and springs the trout are entirely safe 
from even the enterprising small boy and his alder-rod and 
tow-string. AVe fished from our l)oat iu a, most comfort- 
able fashion, a part of the day, aiul took out one hundred 
and five trout, most of them of fair size aiitl giving us 
excellent sport. 

We all spent the night at the house of M. G. Dodds, wiio 
is keeper of the dam. He and his pleasant family live a 
very retired but most sensible life on the river bank near 
the place of his labors— the rapid river l)elow the bluff 
making delightful music to go to sleep by. At supper, 
some very vile slanders were uttered by the Senator and 
others as to the Scribe's appetite, which he endeavored to 
render innocuous by intimating that he was both Scribe 
and Treasurer, and was therefore entitled to double rations. 
And he bears testimony — and will not be deterred from it 
by any insinuations, past or future, — that the trout cooked 
by Mrs. Dodds, and coming smoking-hot upon the table by 
the platter-full, at stated intervals of about five minutes 
each, for a whole hour, were the best that he has ever 



TROUTING ON BASIN BROOK. 241 

eateu; and lie admits, for the purposes, liowever, of this 
statement on]3\ that he lias eaten an appalling iinmher 
during- the course of his fronting experience. 

Bright and early, we were all on the ri v er again. But these 
were among the da3's when our friends at home were liope- 
lessly hot and uncomfortable, and the thermometer reck- 
lessly reveling among the nineties with aspirations, almost 
realized, lor the tuneful niiiely and nine. Even we, in the 
woods, sulfered much this day, and fled from tlie mid da}' 
sun upon the water to the mossy river banks, and lunched 
and slept and smoked and slept again, the faithful smudge 
keeping guard, in the cool shade under the heav}' crowned 
trees. Our catch of trout, therefore, while satisfactory was 
much smaller than on the day before. During the actual 
time of fishing, on both days, probably not tive minutes 
elapsed without landing a trout of good size, and I, at least, 
was satisfied with mere numbers. Like Alexander of old, 
however, I longed for other worlds to conquer, and hoped 
before we should leave the woods to take at least one "big, 
big trout." 

While we Avere tishing near the mouth of the brook, and 
at the height of our sport, a solitary fisherman in butternut, 
one of the hangers-on at the Dam, paddled down the river. 
" Our fun is up, Mayor," remarked I; " that fellow is com- 
ing right in here, — no; there he swings, out into the river. 
He's a gentleman, and no mistake!" And, sure enough, 
he quietly rowed around to a landing below us, came 
ashore, and Avith Ids formidable tamarack i^ole and chalk- 
line went several rods above us on the stream and began 



242 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHIE. 

his fishing-. He threshed the water fearfully with his big 
line and hea\y bait, but caught nothing. I was so 
impressed with the fellow's consideration that I wanted to 
see him catch something. 

" jNIy friend," I calted out, "you are not having much 
luck with bait, are you?" 

"No; — guess I've got too big a hook, or something, — 
they don't seem to care a cent for worms to-day." 

■ I think 1 can help you," said T; "if you'll come to the 
bank here, and throw me ^our line, I'll give 3^ou a tly that 
the trout seem \o like. — There, that brown hackle, — a 
prettj' good sized one, you see, — has been tlie lucky one 
for us. I liope it will be for you " 

"Thank j^ou, ever so mucli," the honest fellow replied, 
as I noosed it on the end of his line and tossed it into the 
water. That night, at Dodds's, I found he had caught a 
" good mess " of trout, and I bad made a friend. I parted 
from hiiu witli the proud consciousness of having both 
rewarded and stinudaU'd a virtue. 

Saturday night found us all at the home-camp again, 
where we six'iil a (juiet Sunday, the Captain's example and 
luiuttcred ordeis having a most I)enign effect; — although I 
aui not sure but certain ])ooks wilh feathers and steel in 
them were coimed rather than those for which we owe 
thanks to the art pi-eser\'ati\'e; and the ((uestion was more 
than once raised, " Have we a tailor among us? " A week 
of our vacation was gone, and already the shadow of our 
leave taking from our sylvan home and the delights of life 
in the woods was beginning to settle down upon our hearts. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Our second week of sport opened with ;i deer-hunt, — 
which it is iillowabh' to report, since we had onl)' theliunt. 
We reasoned well, I think, that tishermen should not live 
by trout and jiork aUuie, but that a little venison now and 
then is relishe(rb\- the ti sin' est of nun. ]Men and oiiides 
were sent out upon the lake and ordered lo take sta- 
tions at various designated points of land at which the 
deer were likely to take to the water. There we awaited 
the now faint and then risinu' and sAvellinsi' notes of the 
hound, the rustle throuuh the leaves and branches, and the 
jiluniie of the tleet deer into the lake. My g-uide and I 
waited and louniicd on a rock; watched the gulls wheeling 
about their nests on Gull Island; listened, and heard no 
sound but the voice of the loon. One by one the boats 
returned to camp, without a shot. The whimpering and 
disappointed hound was picked up on the opposite shore of 
the bay and taken into one of the boats and brought iu. 
And then we phinned new^ ventures for the day. 

1 had partially engaged with three of our party, succes- 
sively, to go up tlie Oswegatchie river, above the lake, for 
two or three days. But the story of Grass River was too 
fresh in their minds for the fair consideration of an expedi- 
tion, the glories of which were vouched for by the word of 
our guides alone. However, the spirit of the great Alex- 



244 CRANliKltHY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCIIIE. 

aiuler still moved iiic, and I resolved to go at any rate, 
alone if I must. Selecting Ed. Young, of Fine, as my 
guide, and taking his little Rusliton boat, we .set out at 2:80 
o'clock P. M. We took tea, crackers, maple sugar, a fry- 
ing-pan, knives and forks, cups, blankets, a small axe, 
rods, rille and sliot-gun and matches, depending for the 
rest on our liicl^ and skill lo supply our wants of food and 
shelter. 

Young was a plucky, faithful little fellow, an admii'able 
guid(\ and knew ever inch of the river we were to visit; so 
that, having faith in him, il required but little courage to 
go fo'rth upon the untried waters, and thi-ough the strange 
forest. 

Reaching the foot of the rapids, where the river enters 
the "set T»ack," we concealed our boat in the woods, a few 
rods from the landing, and clanilx'icd u}) through thickets, 
over fallen trees, and up and down hills, with our packs on 
our backs, three miles to Albany Bridge, — a rude affair 
built of logs, long ago, on one of the old i-oads through the 
wilderness. There Young went into the woods, while I, 
standing upon a rock in the river near the bank, cast over 
a small pool at the mouth of a lirooklet and speedily cap- 
tured several ver}^ livel}" little trout. Our supper, at least, 
was assured almost at the outset. In a few moments, 
Young emerged from the forest with a boat over his head, 
the covmterpart of the one we had concealed below. 

The sun was slowl}' descending, near the end of one of 
those memorable double-heated daj^s of that summer, as 
we pushed from shore and paddled up the beautiful river. 



UP THE OBWEGATCHIE. — SHOT AT A DEER. 245 

Here was virgin wilderuess, —no dead trees or flood -wood, 
and no alders, but the shores eoniing down with solid step 
to the water's edge; and the hi-oa(l-liml)e(l, vigorous forest 
stretched its leafy arms high above oui* lieads, out o^er the 
pure, flowing water. Between enjoyment of the scenery 
and the shade, and the pleasure of fl3^-casting, with vary- 
ing success, over the promising pools and eddies and at the 
mouths of little streams, the full day-light slii)ped uncon- 
sciously away, and dusk descended like dew upon river 
and forest. 

Suddenly, there appeared in the distance, before my 
dreamy gaze, the faintest tinge of dull red against the 
green foliage of the river bank. In a whisper I directed 
my guide's attention to it, and between us we made out the 
outlines of a deer standing upon a rock and quietly 
feeding in the river's edge. I was in the bow of the 
boat, and nw guide sat in the stern plying the paddle. 
Carefully laying aside my rod. and raising my rifle and 
bringing it to l)ear upon the beautiful animal, I kept steady 
aim while we silently drew nearer,— my guide whispering, 
" Don't shoot until I give you the word!" The deer went 
on silently feeding as we gradually approached withour 
l)eing seen,, until we were perhaps not more than ten rods 
distant from him. I grew impatient for the word, but my 
guide whispered again, "Wait a minute more— we can get 
closer! " Suddenly, without raising his head to look at us, 
the deer leaped with a whirl upon the shore like a lightning 
flash, and plunged into the woods. As he leaped, my 
guide shouted "Shoot!" And I shot! I n(!ver yet had 



246 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEOATCHIE. 

shot a deer with a rifle, on the full run, — and I didn't then. 
We listened, and in a moment the deer "whistled" 
sharply, and by that token I knew I had not broken the 
letter of the law, and the deer that ran away, lived to be 
shot at another day. 

I had enoui2;h vain rci^rels that T didn't " blaze away" on 
my own judgment of the proper time to tire, although 
it was not to have ])een anticipated that a deer would 
depart without the one, customary, "last lingering look," 
— and, again, if T had missed a fair, still mark like that, 
my remorse would have been intolerable, and I never could 
hav(^ U)\d of my loss. As it v.-as, I was comforted by the 
reflection that 1 missed a flash (tf light into which that deer 
instantly transformed himself. "So much for Bucking- 
ham! " 

For the next half hour or so, we hunted up the river 
for some stray camp for the night, and found one, — the 
common, ojien bark-cam j), — where Ave landed at eight 
o'clock P. M., thoroughly tired and desperately hungry. 
I had taken more than enough trout for supper, and we 
were soon rolled up in our blankets, with a roaring tire at 
our feet, and fast asleep. 

The next morning, we breakfasted on trout, crackers and 
tea, (not so very bad a breakfast, either, if you have a 
woodsman's appetite,) loaded our small luggage into the 
boat, and continued our w^ay up the river. We came uj^on 
a party of three or four men in camp, lazily smoking 
around their smouldering tire after ( I have no doubt) a 
somewhat heartier breakfast than wc had taken. No iutro- 



tJP THE RIVER. — STOHTiS ANt) SOUNDS. 247 

duetions are needed in the wilderness, and onr chat of a 
few minutes, as we lay with the bow of our l)oat thrust 
into the mossy bank, and as we talked trout and dcvv, was 
a pleasant chanii'e from the conversational duet my i>uide 
and I had kept up all the wa}' from the home-camp. 

Mile after mile up the charming Oswegatchie we slowly 
l)addled, keenly enjo3ing- the scener}- and the delicious 
languor of the gratified senses, swajing the slender rod 
over ever}' promising water with expectant delight, and 
watcliing eags'i'ly the flight and gentle descent of the feath- 
er}' and barbed deception, but scanning at the same timt? 
every lui-ii ;iiid winding of the narrowing river for a day- 
light shol ill a deer. A singular bush or l)rush of dingy 
reil was seen ahead of us, slowly crossing the stream, which 
on closer inspection, proved to ])e a red fox, — his long, 
bushy t;iil HorWiiig airly behind him, while his nose just 
appetu-ed al)ove the water. Now and then a cliipnuudv or 
a red s(piirrel silently pa(hlled his way across the river, his 
keen, black eyes evi<lently distressed by the visi(»n we jire- 
sented to him. The plunge of the nuiskrat disturbed the 
silence,— one i>ersistent little fellow swimming rapidly 
ahead of us with a large bunch of grass in his mouth, for 
his winter home. Along the bank, we fre(pu'ntly saw the 
feeding places of the deer; the soft, bare earth by the 
water's edge trodden like a farm yard 

Little success rewarded our mid-chiy tisiiing, but in every 
thing else tliis gcMitle journeying was most enjoyable. At 
length, between three and four o'clock P. M.. about eleven 
miles above Albany Bridge, at the "Big Flood Wood" 



248 CKANBERKY LAKE.— TUB OSWEGATCIIIE. 

where navigation for our tiny craft became ditiicult, and 
beyond vvliieli were " Tlie Plains," — tliose singular, open, 
treeless regions, natural pastures for deer, found here and 
there throughout the wilderness, how caused, nobody 
knows,— we met two gentlemen and their guide coming 
down the river, returning from an unsuccessful excursion 
above. We were about twenty -four miles from Uie home- 
camp, and deemed it unwise, with our limited time, to 
proceed further. We turned about, slowl}' fishing (h)wn 
stream, while our new-found associates puslicd rai)idly on 
to tlieir proposed camp, where tliey invited us to join them 
at our leisure. 

On our way up-stream, my guide had i)ointed out a 
noted pool, (;al!ed " C'age's 8i)ring Hole," at the outlet of 
Cage's Lake, or IJladder l\)n(l. I had made a few casts 
without raising a fin. On oui- return, the sun was a little 
obscured by clouds and had begun to dip below the tree-tops 
which cast a mild shadow over the pool. I approached it 
with the greatest care, resolved that here, if anywhere, I 
must take my big trout. The main stream, scarcely ten 
feet wide at that ]»oint, came down like the heav}^ arm of 
tlie capital letter "Y," the small, rapid inlet being the 
lighter arm, and the two forming, at their junction, a deep 
pool nearlj" circular, and from forty to fifty feet in diam- 
eter. 

As soon as we had emerged from the green ahlers sulfi- 
ciently to permit casting, my guide checked the boat and 
held it with his paddle. I threw my best skill into the 
effoit, and laid a 1\y on the placid water as gently as a 



CAaE's SPRTNa-IIOIiE. — MY "BIG TROUT." 249 

mother kisses her sleephig- iufaut. Instantly a half-ponnder 
sprang liercely at the flies. I nervouslj^ struck so hard 
that, alas! my rod broke. Fish, flies, leader and line went 
whizzing away. Seizing the slender fragment of my rod 
in one hand, and manipulating the line with the other, I 
succeeded in landing the fish. The rod was a ncAV one, 
liilhcrlo untried, and a, i)(>()r Imtt Jiad succumbed. Untan- 
gling the snarl, I speedily took and rigged my old rod, tried 
in man}" a tussle with bass as well as trout, — a rod that once 
took twelve bass in five casts, — and was ready again. 

Quietly landing upon the point between the streams, with 
open ground behind me, again I launched the leader and 
line out over the water; and as the flies settled down, up 
leaped the trout, two and three at a time. Nearly every 
cast for a few exciting moments, — they might have been 
many or few so far as my observation recorded them — 
brought to basket one or two fish. Finally, tiring of quar- 
ter and half-pounders, I put in practice somebody's old 
precept that " for big fish use large flies." 

Searching In my fly-book, I found an outrageously large 
red - and - white - winged, purple - bodied and tinsel-wound 
bass-fly, and attached it to the end of my leader, and cast. 
Julius Ctesar! What a rise! I couldn't help it,— I knew 
well enough .it wasn't "good fishing," — but I struck as 
if I had been shot, and sent the fly forty feet behind me 
in a flash. "Gently, gently!" said I to my beating heart 
and tingling nerves; and then, with trembling expectancy 
but with all my skill, laid the big fly right amidst the bub- 
bles left by the mad leap and roll. Again the open jaws 



250 CRANBEERY TiAKE. — THE OSWEaATCHlE. 

and gleaming eyes, the semi-circular leap — and as the trout 
made an arc on the surface, I struck. 1 had him ! What 
a magnificent rush! — how the line whizzed and sung 
through the water! Coming to the surface, he beat the 
water to a foam, to shake out the stinging hook — as the 
buss (Iocs for the same purpose — but I led him downward 
to safer depths. Now he tires. Oli, guide, jjhilosophcr, 
friend! — Ed. ! my brave boy! handle that landing net with 
gentle skill! — wait! — don't hurry — he's off again! — there, 
now, take him care full}" — he can't make another such rush. 
Yes! there he goes! He has the nine lives of a cat, and the 
vigor of a mad bull! Careful, now! If you lose him, in 
you go after him, neck and heels! There, gently, gently! 
He's safe — he's landed! 

Yes, there he la}" on the grass, well away from the 
water's edge, the vermilion and gold of his broad side flash- 
ing in the sun-light, a beauty in form and color, and large 
enough to make the heart of his coat-less and hat-less captor 
kneeling on the grass by his victim, leap up into his mouth. 
"How large V" Well — how large? — is that what you would 
know? Well, if it is size you seek for in fishing, catch a 
codfish or a catfish, and be happy; but a trout, a genuine 
brook trout, full of game from tooth to tail, need not be so 
very large to make an honest angler lose his head with joy 
at the captiu-e. There was, however, no more fishing until 
this trout was weighed and measured, and lifted and pet- 
ted, and turned over upon one side and then on the other, 
and held up to be looked at, and laid down again at full 
length; and he measured, under tape line, fifteen and three- 



GLORIOUS SPORT. — LANDED! — "HOW LARGE? " 251 

quarters inches in length, nine inches around, and weighed, 
by good honest scales, one and three-quarters pounds. But 
tliat which went out of the beautiful form, as it lay gasp- 
ing on the sod, was the better [)art of him. 

"Did I stop fishing then? " Such is the heart of man, — 
1 did not. The large flies continued to take only the large 
trout, and when they ceased to allure, the small flies 
brought out smaller fish.* There was some savage work. 
One frayed leader with its trailing flies yielded to the tug 
of a mate to my first large trout. Another ])ig-m()uthed, 
sharp-toothed fellow cut the snell of a salmon fly, like a 
knife-blade. Sometimes defective hooking, over confidence, 
or eagerness cost me what I thought was a two-pounder. 
But there had been enough good forttine for the day, and 
gleeful excitement enough in those two hours to last for a 
year, and to furnish pleasant recollections for a life time. 
Finally the trout family went to bed, I said good night to 
the again quiet pool, and we floated on down the river. 

I reeled in my line, put away my flies and unjointed my 
«. 
trusty rod; for there were no more worlds to contpier with 

that weapon, and if there were, I wanted day -light for the 

business. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

The Avitching hour of Iwiliulit h;i(l c-oiiie, when tlie 
timid deer descend the mountains ,:ind emeri;e from the for 
est to shxka their thirst and feed ujjon the succulent lily- 
pads and tender grasses growini:: in tlie coves and bays of 
the river. AV^iile I was sisated in the l)ow of the Itoat, my 
guide silently paddled in the stern; and we tloated on, 
winding our way with the tortuous stream, with every 
sense keenly alive and watchrul for the tirst sign of the 
l»resence of a deer. Darkness stealthily descended, and the 
rifle w^as laid aside for the long, double-barreled, mu/,zle- 
loading, ten-bore shot gun belonging to one of our guides. 
A gentle tremor of the boat at length arrested my attention, 
and my guide whispered, "I think there's a deer in the 
river, down there; do you sec anything?" 

"No," I responded, after an eager and in-olongcd gaze 
in the direction indicated. 

'' U yon a-t'ii (in i/fki /iff, Are at it," said he. IJut to save 
my life I couldn't see "anything" but dark shades on the 
obscured water. Suddenly, as we advanced, there was a. 
splashing and dashing in the river, four or live rods ahead 
of us, and I saw, apparently, a small, dirty, white hand- 
kerchief jerked and switched rapidly about from one side 
of the shalloAV river to the other and l)ack again toward 
the shore where it first ai)peared, and the tlim Hashing of 



' ' THE HANDKERCHIEF. " — " JACKING. " 3.53 

water beaten almost to a foam. 'It happened to strike 
me as exceedingly comical ; but although nearly ready to 
explode with laughter, I pulled the trigger. An awful 
roar, as of a park of artillery, burst and rolled down the 
river and over the forest, shattering the impressive stillness 
of the night into a thousand echoes. The roar was follow- 
ed b}'^ a silence almost as awful. When everj'thing was 
hushed again, we listened. The crashing through the 
trees told of the tlight of our game, but it might be wound- 
ed ; then the noise ceased, in a moment the deer .stamped 
like a sheep and " whistled," and fled away to the moun- 
tains. 

Re-loading the gun and lighting and adjusting on my 
head the " jack" that we had borrowed of our prospective 
hosts, we again silently went on down the windings of the 
forest-lined or alder-fringed river as before, peering around 
ever}' point and into ever}' nook and cove, but seeing noth- 
ing. Once, we heard a light rustle and delicate footsteps 
near the river bank, but the thick alders effectually con- 
cealed the wary deer, — he stopped, we stopped, each listened 
for the other, and then he stealthily crept away. Still we 
threw the light along the banks on our silent way, search- 
ing for the two "glol)es of fire," but saw them not. 

At length, at nearly fen o'clock, dreadfully tired and 
hungry, we reached the camp of our new friends, ate a 
sunii)tu()us supper provided from their ample supplies and 
my basket of trout, and then rolling up in my l)lanket under 
the bark-roof, while the hre at my feet blazed brightly, I 
went to sleep forthwith. 



254 CRANBERRY LAKK. — THE 08WEGATCHIE. 

Yoiiug and Ward, the two guides, however, went out 
tioatiug for deer. At about 8 A. M. I was awakened 1)}^ a 
shot, a dull, heavy, booming sound as of distant thunder, 
followed b}^ another and a third shot. Fifteen minutes 
later the bo^'s came back Avith a yearling doe in their boat, 
wtUmded by the tirst shot, missed by the second and effect- 
ually stopiKHl by the third. They had seen and heard eight 
deer during the night, but the moon had risen aifd its bright 
light made it very dillicult to approach them. 

* On r breakfast was good enough for an epicure, — plenli 
iul trout, a large frying-pan full of Bermuda onions, 
scrambled eggs, coffee, Boston crackers, pickles and minor 
articles. We rendered great and friendlj' service to our 
hosts, who were that day going out of the woods and 
made it a cardinal point not to carry out witli them anj' of 
their supplies; and tlie}^ gave us with their parting blessing 
something to eke out our much depleted food reserve, 
which, as the sequel proved, served us a most excellent 
tuin. 

The day, July 17, opened with a light south wind which 
si)eedily grew stronger, a wicked, red light in the eye of the 
sun. and fcarfull}- oppressive heat. Pioceeding down 
stream, on reaching All)any Bridge we restored our boat to 
its original place of concealment, and, packs on our backs, 
gun and rifle and rods in hand, went down the haid, rough 
carry to the foot of the rapids, nearly overcome by the heat 
and thoroughly exhausted. It was two o'clock when we 
there drew our boat from its hiding place in the bushc^- 
and started northward down throusrh the flooded timber. 



AFLOAT TN A OALE. 2.")5 

We Ijotli paddled vigorously. The wind, by lliis time 
blowing almost a gale, drove us on tlirough the long, 
open reaches of water at a wonderful and exhilarating rate. 
AVe finally worked our way through tije two or tliree 
speciall}' dittieult passes in the flooded timl)er and drift- 
wood and came to the "fi.sh hawk's nest," a point 1)eyond 
Avhicli tlie river becomes in fact the lake. 

Looking out upon the dark and angry water, we saw 
that the waxes were high and rough. 'I'he Avind was'rush- 
ing with terrific fury down from the long level of Dead 
Creek, and expending its full force upon the long and broad 
stretch of water we must inevitably descend and cross on 
our way to the home camp. The shores Avere marshes and 
drowned lauds. There was no landing near us where a 
tempoiary camp could be made. Our provisions were low. 
The prospect of a night without shelter, probal)ly in our 
boat, with a fierce rain-storm brewing, was not agreeable. 
We were very tired. The next day was to be the last in 
camp. All thes(^ considei-ations made us reallj' anxious to 
proceed, desjiite the forbidding out look, but we did not 
intend taking many risks, for we were in no position to 
redeem a l^lunder, and could hope for no aid from others 
in case of disaster. 

We approached Dead Creek Bay at its head, in the lee; 
ventured a little among the waves; scanned the wild, 
tunil)ling waters and the mad white-caps; ventured a little 
further; questioned whether we should try the i)assage 
down to the next narrow water, hnt continued going as we 
questioned; until finally, somewhat to our alarm and quite 



250) CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHlE. 

to our surprise, we found we were in for it and could do 
no other way than go ahend. Our small boat would have 
swamped in an instant if we had attempted to turn back or 
change our course. 

The wind followed us squarel3\ and, the further Ave went 
into the open water, the harder it blew. My guide sat in 
the stern and I in the bow, each with a paddle, wh le our 
luggage occupied the middle of the little thirty-eight-pound 
Rushton boat. Young said, "I think we'll go through 
safe, — but don't get scared if water comes into the boat, — 
it takes a good deal of water to drown a boat!" That cer- 
tainly, in the circumstances, was encouraging. I answ^ered, 
through the gale, (in a rather heroic vein, I confess) " Tell 
me the truth, whatever happens, and what to do, and I'll do 
it; — I never lose my head in emergencies." That w^as 
about all we said, as the wind howled and drove us along 
up and dovvn and through the hillocks of increasing and 
foam-crested waves. Never did boatmen handle the pad- 
dle with more skill than did Ed. Young, as we tore along 
through the convulsed and raging waters. There were 
times when a false stroke would have left us at the mercy 
of the gale; but the brave, steady-nerved little fellow 
seemed to have eyes all around his head, and knew the ap- 
proach of every unusual wave, and how to prevent its 
burying us as in a deluge. The staunch little craft shook 
and trembled and quivered, from end to end, under the buf- 
feting of the cruel waters, but responded to Young's paddle 
as if it had been a part of his body and his nerves ran all 
along through its delicate frame. There was no Ciesar 



DRIVEN ASHORE. — rROSPECTING. 257 

aboard, to be suri', but tlie boat, seemed to feel the responsi- 
bility of tlie occasion (juite as much as did the brave and 
honest boatman. 

We aimed for a i;reen, timbered point, half or three-quar- 
ters of a mile below, as being directly in the only course 
Ave could go, and the only place (for the dead timber) where 
a landing seemed possil)le. After what seemed hoin-s — 
probably not many minutes — we neared it, our eyes 
anxiously scanned the ragged, tossing and groaning dead 
drift-timl)er for an opening large enough for our boat to 
run into in safet}' — and we found just one such, which I 
had observed and remarked upon, in passing a few days 
])efore, as being a possible retuge for some poor fellow in a 
storm. Into this opening we shot the lioat to the timber 
pil(jd on the shore, hauled it out on the stranded drift- 
wood, took out our luggage, placed heavy sticks across the 
boat to prevent its being blown over upon the sharp prongs 
of broken limbs— and then, safe at last, and happy to feel 
solid earth again under our feet, we drew a (lee)> lacatli of 
relief and looked thankfully out over the wild ;uid marvel 
ous way we had come. 

Our first feeling was of hearty satisfaction that we were 
ashore anywhere. Our next was a desire to know what 
awaited us, now that we were ashore. Young, taking the 
axe, said, "Well, I guess I'll go up here and' see what kind 
of a country we've got into, anyhoAv!" and plunging into 
the thicket, disappeared. I sat on a rock and rather dubi- 
ously contemplated the tumbling and desolate waters and 
the more desolate dead sw^amps and bogs beyond, and the 



258 CRANBEERY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHIE. 

dark, storm-laden sky, while the wind howled and the 
heaving flood-wood groaned as if in mortal pain. 

Young soon returned and said, "There's hard land close 
by, with plenty of spruces ; and we might as well move 
our stutt' up there and fix up, somehow, till this wind goes 
down, — and may be that's what it will do when the sun 
goes down or the rain comes. But if it don't, we've got 
to stay here, — can't tell how long. Anyhow, we shan't 
starve right off, with plenty of trout and venison in my 
pack-basket." AVe carried everything up into the woods, 
to a pleasant sort of forest-ground, a d(;/,en rods, or so, back 
from the shore. 

" Guess here's a good place to camp," said Young, look- 
ing up to see whether any dead trees were likely to fall 
where we stood. " It's going t(; rain beloie long," he 
added, "and we might as well have a roof, the first thing." 

I was completely exhausted, and threw my.self upon the 
ground, quite regardless of rain or any other ill that might 
befall us, — empty, having eaten nothing since an early 
breakfast, tired out by the long carry and the paddling, 
overcome by the heat, and I suppose I must admit that the 
peril and the excitement had wrought a little upon my 
nerves. 

Young, however, "equal to either fate," proceeded to 
build an open bark-camp, the growth of which I still had 
strength enough to watch with interest. He first cut dowm 
two small trees, made crotches, and thrust them into the 
ground six feet apart. Upon these he laid a pole, then 
four poles upon that and the ijround, at the proper angle 



THE BUILDING OP THE CAMP. — NIGHT. 259 

for a roof. Then he cut and peeled bark from large, 
smooth spruce-trees, — hacking around the tree near the 
roots, and then again as high up as he could reach, and 
cutting a line from top to bottom, — then peeling off the 
bark with a wedge-like stick, in fact, " skinning" the tree 
in a moment's time. This bark, in long broad sheets, was 
laid on the roof-poles, rough side out, shingled and lapped, 
and set up at the sides, with beveled ends tucked under 
the roof, — the whole making a snug, perfectly rain-proof 
camp, open in front, and before which a bright, cheerful 
tire was speedilj' built. 

Our supper was of crackers oi' hard biscuits, maple 
sugar, the hottest of tea, and the tenderest and most de- 
licious broiled venison. Thus refreshed, life became at- 
tractive again, although darkness was settling upon us and 
the wind still roared through the tree-tops, and we heard 
the grinding and groaning of the flood-wood b}" the shore, 
and a tempestuous night was threatened. 

Rol)inson Crusoe and his man Fridaj^ (as we very readily 
imagined (MU'selves) went down to the sliore and watched 
the waves and coming night, and the white-caps gleaming 
with the fierceness of the fangs of wild beasts. 

Night settled Ijlack and boisterous, but we lounged on 
our bed of Ijouglis in camp before a cheerful blaze, smoked 
and told stories of other adventures, until, without 
knowing jll^ ; when or how it happened, \V(! were al)e(l and 
asleep. In fi^ night. !here was rain which pattered harm- 
lessly on our ;,ood roof. Half awake, at one time, I heard 
stealthy steps on the leaves, and fired a rifle-shot as a 



260 CRANBERRY LAKE.— THE OSWEGATCHIE. 

reminder that we did not choose to he distiirhed hy curious 
intruders. When wholly awake, however, I suspected the 
noises were made hy the mice or rahhits nmning ahout 
where we had scattered crumbs from our supper tahle on 
the ground. Some laughter, more stories, and we were 
asleep again. 

The morning opened as calm, and as innocent of evil 
threat, as a May-day, and the water was like gTass. After 
a hasty and frugal breakfast, we left " Wind Bound 
Camp," as we christened our temporarj^ home, loaded our 
luggage, launched our good, staunch little craft, and speed- 
i\j paddled our way of seven miles to the home-camp, 
where we were heartily greeted and congratulated by our 
party, who had had not a little anxiety on ovu- behalf — and 
our excursion up the Oswegatchie was ended. 

Letters and papers in good quantity, by the hands of 
some incoming party, had arrived in our absence ; we 
learned that the outer world was conducting itself quite 
properly without us; and thus reassured, we were full of 
satisfaction, and prepared to enjoy to the utmost the few 
remainino- hours of our abode in the wilderness. 



(li AFTER XXX.- 

As this wns to ])v our Inst day in the woods, we were all 
eoiiteiit to do but little hard work. Brand}' Brook, the 
usual resort when nothinir betler olTered, — still entieinu; to 
the Captain, the Senator and the Sheriff, heeause of the 
mj'sterions conduct of its large and cornel}' trout, — was 
visited hj several of the party and with the usual success. 
The Mayor and I, with the strong and willing George Saw- 
yer as our boatman, went up Chair Bock Creek, to see a 
colonj" of blue herons and their remarkable nests. Of 
these latter there were thii;teen in the dead, drowned trees, 
built of sticks and mud, generallj' upon the top of a high 
stub, like a saucer on the head of a cane. The birds them- 
selves, of a bluish graj^ color, with their small, slim bodies 
and long, thin necks and legs, looked like the dead limbs of 
the nests and the surrounding trees that they sat on, (a fact 
freel}' offered to Darwin); and they had away of standing up 
in their nests, like sentinels, and, when shot at, slowly sink- 
ing down until they were invisil)le. A lucky shot with a 
" Stevens' Pocket Ritie " — a wondei'ful little weapon with 
ten-inch barrel, and of twenty two calibre — at a distance of 
tifteeu or eighteen rods, brought one of these birds from its 
perch near its nest, a hundred feet from the ground, to the 
water in which the tree was standing. It came down with 

a tremendous thump and splash, dead. It measured, from 

8 



263 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHIE. 

tip to tip of its wings, tiv^e and a half feet, and, from beak 
to toes, four and a half feet. It was a vile smelling wretch, 
and after being duly inspected at camp nobody had the 
slightest desire to bi'ing it home as a specimen for the taxi- 
dermist's skill. 

But the crowning event of the day occurred in the morn- 
ing. The Junior and the 'Squire, with a guide, took a 
boat and left camp for the dam. In a few moments we 
were all startled by a shot and then a yelling as of a dozen 
savages. We rushed pell-mell down to the landing. 

"Hurrah! Man over-board! Hurrah! Hurrah!! ]\Ian 
over-r-r-board! " 

It was the lust}- voice of the 'Squire. His arms were beat- 
ing the air like mad. Seizing the small American Hag, 
wiiicli liad heretofore lluttered in the breeze at the landing, 
lu! waved that as he shouted, again and again; and the 
boat was returning to shore. The real hero of the occasion 
(and the same wasn't the 'S([uir(') sat ((uictly in the stern 
of the boat, his broad-brimmed, drab hat drawn modestly 
down, and his hand in the water. As they slowly approach 
ed, there wei-e many si)eculalions as to the occasion of this 
great uproar of the 'Sciuire's — a matter, it nnist be ex})lained, 
of no unusual occurrence, as he exphuled after this fashion 
on the slightest provocation, especiall}' if there was any fun 
on hand. The Ijoat, at length, entered the opening througii 
the Hood wood and approached our primitive dock, and the 
mystery was solved ; and a pair of buck horns appeared 
above the surface, firmly grasped by the Junior, — the bod}' 
of the animal being submerged. 



JUNIOR SHOOTS A DEER. — BREAKING CAMP. 263 

After the general Imrrahing and congratulations were 
over, it came out that after the boat had proceeded a few 
rods : rom the landing, the deer was seen leisurely swimming 
out into the lake. Chase was given. The deer, discover- 
ing his pursuers, endeavored to return to the shore, but his 
retreat was cut off by quicklj' rowing the boat between him 
and land, and then he dashed wildh^ out to sea. The 
Junior aimed carefully at the head of the animal, and tired 
with fatal effect. Before the deer could sink, the boat was 
shot swiftly to his side, the Junior seized the antlers. — and 
the rest we had seen. We all icjoiccd that it was the good 
fortune of the Junior, as genial and modest a sportsman as 
ever drew a bead or cast a lly, to carry off the laurels — :ind 
the antlers, the latter of which with the beautiful head autl 
neck now adorn his otlice on street. 

The next morning, July 19th, after an early breakfast, 
we broke camp and started for home. A ])ang shot 
through our heai'ts, as the tents came down aiwl collapsed 
into cloth, — houses and lumies and sanctuaries of refuge 
from rain and moscpiitoes, no more, — only bundles of cloth, 
to be packed and lugged and stowed away, for a whole 
year, until summer heats again should drive us out of the 
torrid city into the cool forests and beside the clear waters 
of the great wilderness. Our camping ground looked deso- 
late, after our luggage had all been taken to the landing, 
and as we went back, ostensibly "'to see if we had left 
anything," but actu-ally to silently and half sadly say good- 
bye to " Camp Keuben." 

Our loaded boats moved gaily down the lake to the dam. 
The inevitable "settling the bills" was accomplislied ; 



264 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHIE. 

Burnliam Avas on hand, by appointment, with a Concord 
coach drawn l)y four horses, and a large open Avagon ; 
witliont unnecessary delay, we shook hands all around 
with the Dodds family, whom we all remember with 
pleasure and gratitude, and with our guides, most of whom 
Avere good felloAvs ; shouted and sang our farewells to 
C'ranberry Lake, Avith a cheer and a "tiger" for the Brandy 
Brook trout, Avitli " Avays that are dark and tricks that are 
A'ain " ; and rolled and bumped and thumped aAA'ay, over 
the corduroy of the lirst mile, and the roots and stones and 
hills succeeding, toward the outer Avorld. 

As AA'e approached Cook's Spring-Hole, the Senator, Avho 
enjoys that sort of thing, for the hundredth time l)egan to 
quiz the 'Squire about his "big trout." 

'"Squire," said he, "come noAv ! Tell us just ho aa' you 
caught your big trout. Do j-^ou mean to insist, uoaa- that 
we are going out of the AA^oods, and must all begin to get 
back to tht hal)it of telling the truth, — do you mean to 
stick to it that you caught that trout with a liook and 
line ? " 

" Gentlemen," said the 'Squire — and he had the air of a 
stump orator e\evy time he opened his jolly mouth — "Gen- 
tlemen, I have told you a himdred times that I caught that 
trout in Cook's Spring-Hole, Avitli hook and line — and that 
is true" — 

"Yes, yes," chimed in all the rest, "that's Avhat you've 
told us, thafs true — l)ut honest Indian, noAV, you knoAv." 

" Well, gentlemen, Ave'll ask Cook himself; — there he is, 
up by his patch of corn." 



THE TRUE STORY OF THE "BOSS TROUT." 265 

" Yes, we'll ask Cook, but 3^011 shan't bribe him, 'Squire, 
witli tliat black bottle, — down with it! " 

"Gentlemen," responded the 'Squire, as he lifted aloft 
the bottle, "I shall appeal to Cook to tell the truth, the 
whole truth and nothing but the truth! — Here, Cook!" — 
we had driven up to him, and the stage had stopped, — 
"here. Cook, didn't I catch that boss trout with a hook and 
lineV — Here, take a drink before 3'ou speak, " — liandinghim 
the bottle— "you can tell the truth better with the taste of 
this in your mouth." 

" Shame, shame! 'S(|uire, to bribe the witness!" cried the 
Senator; — "Cook, isn't it the honest fact that the "Squire 
caught tiie trout in a net, and didn't j^ou see him do it? " 

Cook had taken one good, long drink, and was handing 
the bottle back to the 'Squire, his e5'es longingly following 
it. and his lips smacking. 

•Tell the truth. Cook," said the 'Squire; " didn't 1 take 
it with hook and lineV — Here, before you answer, take the 
rest of this! " handing him the bottle again. 

Cook took it, held it up, and with his eye measiu'ed the 
contents. 

" Oh, take it all. Cook," said the 'Squire. 

Another look,— there was enough s})irit in the bottle to 
send him into a fence-corner for the rest of the day, — and 
he .said, •' I gxess old Oilcrll s1<iit(t it ! '' and swallowed the 
entire contents. 

"There, now. Cook—tell us the truth— didn't I catch 
that trout with hook ami line? " 

We listened to see what answer was coming, after two 
such drinks ;— it was given deliberately— 



266 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCIIIE. 

" Well — I didn't see you caich it (luy oilier iray! '" 

The Squire shouted, " GeiiUeinenl I'm Aiiulicated! Drive 
on, Biirnham! — Good-bye, CU)ok!"' 

But — withiu an hour, we had brought the 'Squire to tlie 
confessional — and he admitted tliat the "boss trout" which 
the SherilT and 1 saw him so ])ro\idly bearing- at 0\\'ens's 
Plains, was caught by Cook in Cook's Spring-Hole, the 
night befoi'e, with a net — and that he l)ought it wi Cook! — 
We Avere approaching civilization, — and the truth-telling 
instinct of the civilized man was moving the 'Squire. We 
never heard, however, what became of Cook's "biler." 

We readied Hermon in the evening, re-organized our 
outer man, and once more enjoj^ed the luxury of clean 
sheets. Early the next morning, we looked for the 'Squire 
to say good-bj^e, — but he was lost again : and as we rolled 
out of towm, in the stage, a sadly humorous refrain, without 
rhj^me or metre, might have been heard above the rumble 
of the wheels, conveying to the attentive listener the infor- 
mation— "Oh, the jolly, jolly 'S(|uire. — he's lost again, 
—he's lost! lost!! lost!!!" 

In due time we reached our homes, and were resolved 
into oui- original elements as humble citizens, with, how- 
ever, something of the forest, the tent, the mosquito- 
smudge, tar-oil, and Cranberry Lake clinging to us still. 

A few "general observations," and I relieve the reader 
Avho has followed thus far the fortimes of the Cranberri' 
Lake party. 

Tlie weather in the woods was unusually warm, but we 
had no "realizing sense" of the terrible heat outside, until 
we readied Hermon and the new\spapers. 



ABOUT CRANBERRY LAKE. 367 

Cranberry Lake, itself, is not a good body of water to 
camp on. It is too large, being easily moved by the wind, 
and so made dangerous on manj?- days when a smaller lake 
would be safe; and too much time and labor are required 
to visit the various fishing resorts, of which it has no more 
than many a small lake, — certainly' but few spring-holes 
where tnmt niust be sought in Jul}^ Its shores, lined witli 
dead wood, standing and fallen, and its hii\» and flooded 
swamps often impenetrable, are both dangerous to approach 
and exceedingly disagreeable to the eye. On the. other 
hand, the lake affords a large and safe breeding and feed- 
ing ground for Iroul, nnd will long hv noted, I imagine, for 
its man}^ and large fish. 

One ought to camp above or below tlie lake, on the 
Oswegatchie liiver, thus liaving really attractive scenery, 
easier and safer moving about, and equally as good and 
prol)ably nuicli better fi.sliing. 

The river Ix'low the dam is rapid for half a mile, and the 
finest ]>laee, all things considered, for Sirring fishing in th(» 
woods, — a comfortable home with Dodds, al reasonable 
rates, not being the least consideration. In Basin Brook, 
within a mile of the dam, in a single pool not over twelve 
or fifteen feet in tliameter, the IMayor and 1, while floating 
quietly, Avitli faces near the water, saAv at least half a 
bushel of trout, some of them from fifteen to eighteen 
inches long. At Cook's Spring-Hole, about live mih's 
l)e1ow the dam, tliere is pro1)ably the best tly-lishing in all 
that region. Tliere are, also, several other excellent spring- 
holes in that inunediate neighborhood. 

The rivei- above the lake, after two miles of rapids, is 
navigable for small boats, without a cai'ry. for fifteen or 



268 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCIIIE. 

twenty miles, and lias fine sprin«-holes — "Cage's Si)ring- 
Hole ■' probabl}' being the best. The Spring fishing, on 
and above the rapids, is said to be admirable, and the river 
here is much resorted to by sportsmen from the adjacent 
towns. Albany I>ridge, thive miles above the head of the 
river, is the point of entrance lo Mic river above the rapids 
and tlu' region above the lake, a tolerable road leading 
fi'oni the rail-road at Governenr to Fine and tften to the 
Ihidge. 

The npper Oswegatchie liiver is also a remarkable resort 
for deer; and I .saw the l)anks of tlie stream, at several 
lK)ints, trodden like a sheej) 3ard, and many well beaten 
deer-paths leading to the water. I do not know a section 
of the wildei'ness wheix" th(> experience o' the guides, 
Young and Ward, of seeing and hearing eight deer in a 
single evening's floating, would be likely to be repeated. 

Undoul)tedly, both the Oswegatchie and Grass rivers, at 
the [d'oper season, and wlien the wafer is at the right height, 
atford as line trout-fishing, both as to number and size of 
tish, as any other part of the nortliern wilderness. 

l>ut the genuine sportsman, the true lover of forest, lake 
and river, the tired brain-worker, the seeker for health and 
recreation, each desires, in his brief forestdife, more than 
fishing and hunting. The grand and beautiful scener}', 
the quiet and lonely lakes and sti-eams, the mountain 
heights and secluded vales, the silvery waters in all their 
variety, and the endless charm of the ever j^oung and ever 
old forest, all contribute of their richness abundantly to 
those who have eyes to see and hearts to enjo3\ 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

No serious work, like the present, is complete without at 
least one didactic chai^ter. The opportune moment and 
page have arrived, when and where I propose to give some 
hints and suggestions, which old campers are refjuested to 
omit as not being needed hy them, but which all neophytes 
are invited to read. 

The term "Adirondacks, ' in popular use is applied to 
that north-eastern portion of the State of New York which 
is still almost an unbroken wilderness , and being parts of the 
counties of St. Lawrence, Franklin, Clinton, Essex, War- 
ren, Hamilton, Herkimer and Lewis. Across this wilder- 
ness, east and west, the distance is about eighty miles, — 
north and south, about one hundred miles. It has a 
wonderful water-s3'stem of lakes and rivers whicli enables 
the adventurer to exphjre its iimermost recesses; whih: the 
mountains, in ranges and groups, are grand and majestic. 

The entire region is skirted by rail-roads distant lioiu its 
borders about ten to twenty-tive miles, the intervening 
s])ace gradually shading oil" into primitive forest. These 
rail-roads are, on the south, the N. Y. C. and II. H. K. K. 
from Schenectady to Utica; on the west, the Utica and 
Black River R. R. to Carthage and Philadelphia, and the 
Rome, Watertown and Ogdensburg R. R. from Phihidel- 
phia to Potsdam Junction; on the north, the Vermont 



270 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHIE. 

Central R. R. from Potsdam .Tunctiou to Mooer's and on to 
Rouse's Point; on the east, the Delaware and Hudson 
Canal Co. R. R. lines from Mooer's southerly to Plattsburg 
and on to Whitehall, and through Saratoga to Schenectady. 
From Saratoga the Adirondack R. R. runs north-westerly 
tifty one miles to North Creek, aproaching the forest 
directly on the route to Blue Mountain Lake. 

There ar(; twenty or thirty i-easonably good entrances to 
the wilderness from these rail-roads, and the iirincipal ones 
— following the same order — are as follows: 

From the N.Y.C.R. R. at Amsterdam, Fonda. Little Falls 
and Herkimer, to Lake Pleasant, Round Ijake and Piseco 
Lake — the route from Fonda by rail-road to Gloversville 
and thence by stage to Sagevilie being the easiest and best. 

Entering from the Black River R. R. and connecting 
roads on the west, stop at Remsen for Piseco Lake region, 
and Jock's Lake; at Alder Creek, for W(M)dhull and Bisby 
Lakes; at Booneville, t'ov Moose Rivei' waters, Fulton Chain, 
etc.. and through by Raquette Lake; at Lowville, for 
BeaA^er Rivx'r wateis, Fenton's'or "No. 4," Beaver Lake, 
Albany Lake, Saiith's Lake, and through by Tupper Lakes; 
at Govei'neur, for the upper Oswegatchie River, above 
Cranberry Lake, and Cranberr}- Lake; at DcKalb Junction, 
for the lower Oswegatchie Rivx-r (below Cranberry Lake) 
and Cranberry Lake, the usual route to the Lake; at 
Potsdam, for Raquette River :uid the lakes tlowing into it. 

Entering from the Vermont Central R. R., on the north, 
stop at Malone for Meacham Lake, " Paul Smith's " on St. 
Regis Lake, the Saranac Lakes and through the w ilderness 



n. E. LINES AROUND THE ADIRONDACKS. 2<'l 

in every direction, — ti most popular and niucli traA'clcd 
route ; at Chateaugay, for the Cliateaiigay Lakes. 

From the Delaware and Hudson Canal Co. R. M. lines 
on the East, cuter at Plattsburg b}' Railroad to Point of 
Rocks, thence by stage to "Paul Smith's" on St Regis 
Lake, or Martin's on Lower Saranac Lake, and on at 
pleasure to any jiart of tiie wilderness; at Port Kent, (Lake 
or Railroad,) by stage to Keeseville, Point of Rocks, and 
then as last above; at Westport, for Elizabethtown, Keene. 
Keene's Flats, through the Adirondack Mountains proper, 
to North Elba, and on to Saranac Lake. At Saratoga, take 
Adirondack Railroad for Schroon Lake, or to its terminus 
at North Creek for Blue Mountain Lake, Raquette Lake 
and on through to any point in the Eastern and Northern 
wilderness, or from North Creek north to Adirondack Iron 
Works, Lower and Upper. 

With the aid of an ordinary map of the wilderness, the fore- 
going information will enable the tourist to form the plan 
of almost any tour he may desire to make in that region. 

The sportsman will need to consult works designed to 
point out more specitically the best resorts for hunting and 
fishing. However, the guides in any of these localities can 
give complete information, and the hotel keepers, at nearly 
all these points of entrance, may be relied upon to post the 
inquiring sportsman. "Wallace's Guide to the Adiron- 
dacks," is exceedingly valuable in this connection. 

Where to go and Jio/r to go into the Adirondacks, depends 
principally upon whether you go as a foar/'xf or as a .^ports- 
7W«?i,— whether you wish to journey, or to camp. If you 



273 CIIANBETIRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCIIlR, 

go as a tourist, you should select some of the easier routes, 
and those upon whicli regular convej'ances run, — as, by 
way of the Adirondack Raih'oad and stage to Blue Mt. 
Lake, or ])y rail-road to Point of Kocks and stage to Paul 
Smith's. IfoAvever, convej'ances for parties of three or 
four or more can be pro(;ure(l at I'easonable rates at an}^ of 
the points of entrance already mentioned. 

Again, as a tourist you may take yovn* i'amily with 3'ou. 
There are, on the principal routes through the wilderness, 
comfortable although generally' unpretentious "hotels," 
less than a hard day's journej^ apart, so that an entire fam- 
ily, including ladies and children, may travel for a hun- 
dred miles and sleep under a roof every night. 

For such a journey, 'gentlemen may wear their ordinary 
clothing, being careful, however, to provide boots or shoes 
suitable for occasional mudd}' walking over " carries," a 
hat that will endure a smart rain, and a light rubber over- 
coat. Ladies need good walking shoes, dresses that do not 
trail, and rubber wraps. A good umbrella is serviceable 
against sun and rain. Woolen clothing is best. On the 
water, sit still in the hoat, heed the suggestions of j'our boat- 
man, and 3"0u are as safe as in a rail-road car. Leave all 
heav}' baggage at the point of entrance, or have it for- 
warded to the point where you are again to resume rail-road 
travel. 

As a sportsman, seeking the wilderness for the fishing 
and hunting, the requirements are ver}' different. First, to 
find fish or garne, you must go to solitary and secluded 
lakes and streams, away from the much-traveled routes ; 



• GEKERAL SUGGESTIONS. 273 

and you must camp, and be accompanied by guides ; and 
sufficient provisions must be taken to supply your wants 
for tlie numl)er composing your party and for tlic time 
you propose to remain in camp. 

For clotliing, wear no linen ; take your last cast oil 
woolen suit, a woolen shirt with collar of same material on 
it. a soft hat, strong (but not very heavy) boots or shoes, a 
woolen blanket and rubber overcoat. Wear woolen or 
merino socks. Carrj' a few needles, some strong thread, 
and buttons of various sizes. A strip of adhesive plaster, 
a small bottle of brandy, and a piece of Turkish rhubarb, 
(decidedly necessary with most persons the first few daj^s in 
the woods,) are all that are ordinarily necessary in the 
medicine-chest. 

For sporting, one flj'-rod, one bait-rod, with extra tips 
for each, lines, reels, hooks, leaders, and a small assort- 
ment of flies of mediun, size, are an outfit for fishing; and 
for shooting, take a double-barrelled shot-gun for night- 
shooting or a rifle for day-shooting. Better than either, and 
combining both, is Baker's three-barrelled gun — two shot 
and one rifle — the true arm for the Adirondack sportsman. 

For camping, the guides will easily build or find an open 
bark-camp before which a blazing fire burns nightly. A 
tent is warmer, cleaner, and permits you to move from 
place to place more freely. An "A " tent of cotton cloth, 
water-proofed, 7x8 feet on the ground, weighs about ten 
pounds and is good for three. Through the top, sew a 
rope extending 15 feet each way, use crotches outside of 
the tent and pegs to tie to, and you can dispense with the 



274 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCIIIE. 

annoyance and burden of tent-poles. A camp stove is a 
great comfort and convenience l)ut not indispensable. 
Duncklee's is tbe best in market. A better one is built to 
fold up much like an envelope, made at cost of less than $5, 
and weighing less than ten pounds, but there is none such 
in market. My own, of this kind, is a complete success. 
To acompany this, get a large, strong tin-pail, with cover, 
and put inside a smaller tin-pail with cover. Inside of this, 
put coffee-pot,tin-plates,cu))s, knives, forks,si)oons,a frying- 
pan with detachable handle, and dish-cloths. The coffee- 
pot must have a bale, and the frying-pan should be of 
good size, if you have no stove. However, most of the 
guides furnish cookiug utensils. Ask some old camper to 
make a list of "supplies " for you, if jou do not already 
know what j^ou want. 

If you seek the Spring lishing, go in May, as soon as the 
snow is out of the woods, and lish on rapids and in swift 
water. Fish with bait, generally, at that season. 

If you care more for the delights of camping, and want 
to enjo3" forest life, and also want fly-fishing, go in July or 
August. July, on the whole, is the most delightful, and 
the safest month for settled weather. At this season, look 
for trout in the "spring-holes," — it is a waste of time to 
seek them in the rapids or deep water, or in the body of a 
stream. Look for them at a spring or pool of cold water! 
Find where a small cold stream enters a lake or river. 
Whenever you find clear wW water you ought to find trout. 

Earl}^ in the season, tlie dreaded black fly abounds, but 
he departs by the middle of July. The mosquito and midge 



SUGGESTIONS. 27o 

or "pnnky" come before July, iiucl stay. None of these, 
however, are a serious incouveiiience if "tar-oil," camphor 
and lard, or some oilier of the well known mixtures for 
Avarding- off insects are persistently used. Insects rarely 
accompan}' their victims out upon open water. A breezy 
camp, also, is pretty free from them. ]\Iosi|uito-nettini;- at 
night is worth all the trouble it costs to arrange it. 

In camp, hemlock or balsam boughs, and plenty of 
them, make the best bed. Each person should have a 
blanket to himself, and roll up in it. Wear a soft hat. cap, 
or other protection on the head. Take a small flour sack 
and till it with hemlock twigs or grass and put a coat (ner 
it for a pillow. 

Have plenty of jokes, but no •• fooling "" with the a.xe, the 
boat, or with each other, in camp or on the water. Bodily 
injuries or a dead man in the Avoods, with long '" carries" 
on the way out to civilization, are great niconveniences. 
Few people l)ecome sick in the woods, and, with caic, acci 
dents of a serious nature are not likely to occur. Of all 
things, avoid going off into the woods alone, away from 
the water or the trail. Nothingis easier than to 'gel lost," 
— nothing much harder than to "get found" again. 

Guides usually charge $2.50 or $3.00 each pei- day, 
including boat. Hotels usually charge 50 cents each for 
meals and lodging, or from $7, to .|iO per week for l)oard, 
with use of boats. In camp, the food of each man costs 
not to exceed 25 cents per day. One gnide and bo;\t for 
two si)ortsmen is comfortable,— a guide and boat for each 
sportsman is a luxury worth payhig for if you can aiford it. 



276 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHIE. 

One guide and two boats for a party of four who are will- 
ing to work, and with a fixed camp, will give all the sub- 
stantial benefits of a sojourn in the woods. 

Finally, don't fisli all the while, — enjoy the woods, the 
waters, the camp-fire, ererything including the hardships, 
and bring away all the bright, clear-cut memories you can 
of a region unsurpassed for its glorious combination of 
rare sport, beauty and grandeur. 



j]!RAYLI]Mq 'pi3HiiMq 



IN 



NORTHERN MICHIGAN. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

In the summer of 1879, on my wa}^ home from a western 
business trip, I was a1)le, under the most pleasant auspices, 
to gratify a long cherished desire to visit the haunts of the 
Grayling in the Northern Wilderness of Michigan. The 
result of various letters and telegrams was, that on a Mon- 
day morning, July 21st., an excellent friend of mine, of 
Detroit, and I, found ourselves together in that goodly city, 
planning the details of our week's vacation. 

Law, politics and public duties had so engrossed my 
friend's time and atfections that he lacked one thing sadl3^ 
— he knew absolutely nothing about fishing. But he had 
the true disciple's spirit, and, with becoming humility, 
besought me to "rig him out " for the woods and the riv- 
ers. A serviceable fly-rod, from Mr. Long's stock, and the 
necessary accompaniments from my own abundant supply 
furnished him in good style as a fisherman. 

We telegraphed M. S. Hartwick. hotel proprietor at 
Grayling, Crawford Count}^ on the head waters of the 
Au Sable, — "Provide men and boats for two, Tuesday, 
noon train." That evening, we proceeded by rail to Baj^ 
City, and on the following morning resumed our journey 
to Grayliug, thirty-five miles further north. From Bay 
City we passed through a flat, wooded, and exceedingly 



280 ORAYLING. — KORTIIERN MICHIGAN. 

iiuinterestiug country. Occasionally, however, from the car 
window, we saw some ver}' prett}' little emei-ald lakes, 
which had a half-wild, half-mild beauty that contrasted 
strangely with the surroundings. Tlu! rail-road i)ushes up 
northwai'd, past station after station, where once were a 
steam saw-mill, a collection of rude cabins, a "hotel " and 
a " store," and wdiere now the mill is ii'oing to>decay or is 
burned down, the cabins deserted, and the whole town con- 
sists of a forlorn family or two. The valuable pine of the 
neighborhood has all been cut, sawed and marketed, and 
the town experiences "reversion." The railroad presses 
on to new fields, and the histoiy of the lower lumber 
regions repeats itself. At some points, however, the soil 
shows itself susceptible to cultivation, and a sparse farm- 
ing commuity springs up. So much we saw on our w^ay 
to tlie village of Grajdiug. We saw much that was better 
and more promising, in the northern part of the Peninsula. 

Hartwick, our host, had complied with our request, and 
engaged for us the services of two good men. One of 
them, William D. Jones, is a famous fisherman, hunter and 
trapper, who know^s all about Northern Michigan, its rivers, 
lakes, fish and game. Within three years he had trapped 
forty-two bears, shot man^^ deer, and fished for grayling in 
the Au Sable, Manistee, Chebo3'gan and Pigeon rivers. The 
other, Charlie Robinson, served us well, and "poled" to 
our entire satisfaction. 

B3* the middle of the afternoon we had procured our sup- 
plies, blankets, etc., and then we took to the river, close to 
town, — the Au Sable, famous in the recent historj' of gi'ay- 



DOWN THE AU SABLE. — BOATS. — POLERS. 281 

ling fishing in this countiy as, perhaps, the finest grayling 
stream in Michigan. At this point it is not more than 
twenty feet wide and has an average depth of about one 
foot, with holes and shallows interspersed, and with crooks, 
snags and rapids that necessitate a peculiar boat and 
method of propulsion. 

We had two boats, flat-bottomed, with sides jiearly per- 
pendicular, pointed at each end, and having a "fish- well" 
or water-tight compartment, about one-third the length of 
the l)c;it back from the bow. The water-tightness was 
relieved, and the box made available for keeping fish alive 
in it, by pulling half a dozen plugs from auger holes in the 
enclosed bottom of the boat. The cover of the box made 
a comfortable seat for the fisherman sitting face bow-wards, 
while a round, old-fashioned "cat-hole" in the seat, on 
either side, invited him to plump in his fish as fast as taken, 
— they being supplied with fresh water from the river, 
through the auger holes, in a degree of abundance corres- 
ponding with the avoirdupois of the man above their 
prison. Fat anglers are the grayling's favorites ; — fatness 
means water, and water means life. 

The boatman, or '"poler," as he is locally known, sits or 
stands — as the ease or dilficulty ,of his work i)ermits or 
requires — in the stern of the boat, in a contracted space 
tliat suggests an easy loss of equilibrium and a conse(iuent 
ilucking. Ai-med with a slender but tough-fil)red pole, 
which is about ten feet long and pointed at both ends with 
iron, he forces the boat rapidly along the shallow s'trcam, 
aroinid the sharp curves, among the snags and tlirougli \hv 



282 GEAYLING. — ^OinilKKN MKllIGAX. 

rapids, — or checks it in llic sAviitcsl current, to afford a cast 
over a promising bit of water, — Avith consunmiate skill. Tt 
looks simple enough, l)ut a tiial of this easy thing, by a ■ 
new hand, demonstrates that there is science even in poling 
a flat-boat in swift water, down sti'eam. 

It (juite often demonstrates how cold the waters of the 
Au Sable are. { I shall not say what befell my friend, who 
was of an investigating and expei'imenting turn of mind — 
and who weighs well nigli two hundred i)ounds.) In the 
occasional stretches of deep and quiet water — the " Still- 
Avater " — the iron-shod pole is laid aside (then look out for 
your rod and flies if lying by your side!) and the paildle 
comes in play. 

The Au Sable "runs down hill" Avith a gliding, sliding 
motion at the late of four miles an hour. Poling up stream 
with empty boats is possible but not feasible, — >vitli a load, 
well nigh impossible; and Ashing parties arrange "lobe 
called foi' " at a designated i>oint down the river, on an ap- 
pointed day, and to be draAvn out, boats, bag and baggage, 
on a lumljer Avagon, to the rail-road station. 

After the river leaves GraA'ling, it gradually increases in 
Avidth to fifty feet or more, Avitli a variable depth from six 
inches in the broad rapids to tAvo or three feet, — its average 
and natural depth being, in July, about eighteen inches. 
I only speak of it as I saAv it for about nineteen miles. 
Below, it becomes a broad, strong river. The "sAveep- 
ers," or fallen trees across the stream, have been cut 
out of the Au iSable, for a long distance, depriving its 
passage of much of its pristine excitement and adven- 



MY FIEST GRAYLING. 283 

tnre. We saw enough to enable us to comprehend the sit- 
uation of a boat swiftly descending the rapids around a 
point and coniing suddenly upon a prostrate mammoth 
cedar, all bristling \vitli sliarp, dead limbs — right across the 
water highway, at just the most inconvenient height al)Ove 
the stream. The old college problem — wliat would be the 
result if an irresistible force should strike an immovable 
object? — hardly suggests a more disagreeable predicament. 

On eitlicr side of the river a belt of lieavy timber grows, 
partially because; fed i)y the moisture of tlie stream, perco- 
lating through the soil, and partly because the ground is 
"bottom lands." The higher ground, rising back from 
the river, so far as I saw, is mainly sandy soil and partiall)'' 
covered l)y a scanty growth of stunted jack-jiine. A de- 
pression in the surface, gathering and confining the rain- 
fall, produces a heavy gi-owlh of timber. 

Down the wood-fringed, embowered aisle of the Au Sable 
we were at length swiftly gliding, under the tutelary care 
and vigorous poling of our tw'o boatmen. For six or seven 
miles there was no tisliing, and we had ample time and 
opportunity to observe the beauties of the charming river, 
winding gracefully and lapidly down its course; its cold, 
clear waters revealing the sandy bottom; the air pure, fresh 
and invigorating. 

At length, the word was given, — " there are grayling 
here! " T made my first cast. In a flash, with a leap out 
of water, a fish seized the fly before it touched the surface, 
and was fairly hooked, with scarcely an effort of mine. I 
hastily drew him in— he weighed only four ounces— and, 



284 GRAYIJX(4. — KOKTHERN MrCTITGAN. 

for the lirst time, beheld the marvelous colors of the large 
dorsal tin and the pectoral tins, the silvery sides, tlie olive 
l)rown hack, the " V " shaped black specks, (where the 
trout has the crimson spots,) and the graceful, taper form 
of the uTaylinu-. If I had not taken another lish, I should 
have felt repaid for my journey. Pages of description had 
not given me the whole agreeable truth about this beauti- 
ful lish, that was revealed to me in the two minutes' 
examination I gave to this "specimen number," before I 
plumped him into the well. 

Casting again. I struck a tine fellow that showed great 
vigor and activity for two or three minutes, and despite 
Charlie's urgent appeals to "land him." 1 gave him full 
play and studied liis form, colors and spirited inovcments 
in tiie clear water, as he passed n\) and down, within 
twenty leet of the V)oat. The magniliceut dorsal tin, erect 
like a warrior's plume, waved like a battle standard, and 
glowed like a rainbow, and his shining sides flashed in the 
sun^light like silver. It. Avas, indeed, a beautiful sight, and 
I enjoj'ed it to the full before he finally succumbed and lay 
panting on the surface. ^Vhen I tinall}^ drew him in, he 
weighed ten ounces, measured thirteen and one-half inches 
in length and six and one half around,— a slender fish, as 
these measurments show, but typical of all the grayling I 
saw. In some rivers, I was told, they are thicker than 
this, but everywhere more slender than trout. 

The evening was now • approaching ; and, after taking 
another pair of grajding, we hastened on to West's Land- 
ing, where we camped for the night. The guides made a 



THfi SECOND DAY. — MOKE (4RAYLtNG. 285 

tent of blankets, a fine bed of balsam boughs, and con- 
cocted a good supper of the fish we had taken, flanked bj^ 
many things from our hotel. I tried to believe that the 
grayling is as good to eat as the trout, ])ut yielded only a 
modified assent. 

After breakfast, the next morning, while oin* men Avere 
doing the house-work of our tabernacle on the Au Sal)le, 
my friend and 1 walked back from the river, half a mile 
through a wooded Ijelt along the river ])ottom, to the ele- 
vated plateau where the scraggi}' jack-pines prevailed, 
scattered and small, and to a farm which Mr. West had 
initiated on the poor, sand}" soil. On our way back to 
camp, we surprised a large and very fat hedge-hog that 
waddled off into the underbrush, his slow movements, as 
he shambled along, being notably accelerated by several 
innocent and harmless sticks cast ineffectually- after him. 

Putting everything aboard our boats, and interchanging 
boatmen, (by which arrangement Jones fell to me,) we 
proceeded down the river, fishing as we went. The early 
day was delightful, not too warm although bright and 
clear, but afterward becoming cloudy. Later, the clouds 
became heavy and dark, an east wind blew smartly 
up-stream, and at length some rain fell, but not enough to 
drive us to shelter. 

AVe fished for five miles down the river to the 'Ha}' 
Road," where we dined on shore. During the morning I 
had taken twenty-one grayling, throwing back two of that 
number because small,— all kept alive in the well. 

In the afternoon, I fished one and a half miles further 
down stream, and back again to the Hay Road, until five 



286 GRAYLING. — NORTHERN MICHIGAN. 

o'clock P. M., capturing twelve grayling, — mj' entire catch 
for thechw being tliirty-three, and for the day and the even- 
ing before, thirty-seven. Of these, three weighed ten ounces 
each, and measured as I have described my second fish, 
(^uite a number weiglied half a pound, or a trifle more. 
The}^ were a glorious sight in the well, when I landed and 
gazed at them to my heart's content, before permitting the 
men to despoil their fair forms. 

My prettiest si)ort was had at a deep, narrow and swift 
passage in the river, up which we were forcing our way 
by clinging to the branches and working as best we could. 
Jones held the boat right in the edge of this swift water, 
while I cast up-stream, taking fairl}^ large fish frequentlj . 
One ten-ounce fish, struck in the water above me, rushed 
swiftly down stream, forty or fifty feet below the boat, 
before I could check him. At the instant, when I brought 
him to bay. he sprang fully three feet out of water, — as 
magnificent a leap as I ever saw, — flapping his tail with a 
noise that I distinctly heard above the rush of the rapids, 
as if applauding himself for his gallant exploit. 

"Gracious! " said I. 

" Gosh all Christopher!" said Jones. 

I wouldn't have missed landing that fish, after such a 
display of his beauty and strength, and after the brave bat- 
tle he made for the next five minutes, for the best bamboo 
ever won at a fl3"-casting tournament by either of those 
veterans of the angle, Reub. Wood or Seth Green. 

The team met us at the'Hay Road, at six o'clock P. M., 
and we tediously drove fifteen miles through the jack-pines, 
the heavj' timber, and finall}^ overa corduroj^ road through 
a swamp, back, late in the evening, to Grayling and our 
hotel. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

"What I know" about grayling and grayling streams 
(in addition to diligent reading on the subject) consists 
only of what I saw during these two days, and of what I 
learned by persistently interviewing our boatmen, other 
fishermen wherever 1 found them during our trip, and 
from the " local authorities " on fishing. But such infor- 
mation as I picked up, 1 I>elieve to be accurate and reliable, 
and worth repeating for the benefit of the lovers of good 
sport. Sifting it, I give the results, as follows: 

I. — Grayling Streams in Northern MiCHiCiAN. 

The An Sable, running eastward to Lake Huron. This, 
perhaps, is the most widely known of the ^[ichigan gray- 
ling streams, and as a conseciuence, has been over-tisiied. 
From a point six miles below Grayling to Big Flood Wood 
in Iosco County, there is, with exceptions, grayling fish- 
ing: — orduitwy, down to South Branch; fxlr (did better, be- 
tween South Branch and North Branch (except in still- 
water for three miles ])elow South Branch); e.rcelU nt, in Big 
Creek which comes in from the south, about five miles be- 
low North Branch, and 1)eing, by the windings of the river, 
about fifty miles from Grayling. There is very little still- 
water in the Au Sable, that of tliree miles between South 



288 GRAYLTNCx. — NORTHERN MICHIGAN. 

Branch and North Branch, and another stretch of six miles 
from a point two miles below North Branch to Ball's 
Bridge, near Big Creek, being su]>stantially all, in the fifty 
miles. I learned very little of the river beyond Big Creek 
— that being the most distant point ordinarily visited. 

MxiHsfee. Tiic up[>er waters of the Manistee, where the 
grayling of that stream are now chietly tV)und, are easily 
reached by a .good road from Grayling, of eight miles. 
The tishing extends with decreasing excellence, down lo 
Ihc rail-road, near Walton. The ^Manistee emiities into 
Lake Michigan. 

Cheboygan. This river runs northward. Its upper 
waters are reached from Gaylord (a rail road town, twenty- 
eight miles north of Grayling) hy a drive of from ten to 
twenty-live miles. It has not been much fished, and its 
grayling are reported to be larger and more abundant than 
in any other stream in ^Michigan. 

Pigeon Rlrer, another nortliern stream, is highl_y spoken 
of. but I obtained no definite information aliout it. 

For a trip, linuted in time and easy to make, the Au Sable 
;iiid Manistee rivers oft'er the best inducements to the fisher- 
man; l)ut, doubtless, there is finer sport as well as harder 
work on the Cliebo3'gan. All these streams were originally 
extremely ditficult of passage, on account of the "sweep- 
ers " and snags. Since the grayling has come to favorable 
notice some of the rivers have been" cut out " and rendered 
easy of descent, notabl}' the Au Sable and the Manistee. The 
Joi'dan has ceased to be a grayling stream, — the popular 



GRAYLING AND GRAYLTNG STREAMS. 289 

verdict being- that the trout have driven out their less bellig- 
erent cousins. 

IT. — Habits OF Grayijng — Size — Flies to Use, Etc. 

Grayling, in a general way, have the hnbits of trout in 
similar streams. Tluy^ are found in rapids, in deep seooped- 
out holes witii sand}' bottom, l)()th in the channel nnd in 
the margin of the streams; seek shaded places and s|)ring- 
lioles; and lurk under and near old logs, if the water is 
rapid, and under over-hanging trees. (I took eight, besides 
pricking two or three more, in a fcAV minutes, in a hole 
under an over-hanging cedar.) If the water is rapid just 
above a hole with sandy bottom, and a tree projects over it, 
grajding are almost certain to be there. Dee}) and rapid 
water in the ndddle of the stream is also a favorite resort. 
They are not to be found in still-water, at an}- time of the 
3'ear, excejtt that they seek their spawning beds, in the 
Spring, in the sandy bottoms of quiet water just below and 
as near as i)ossible to rapids. As the water grows warmer, 
they go ujion the swift-water and stay there daring the 
remainder of the warm. season. They never go u]) very 
small streams,— being in this respect wdiolly unlike trout. 

Grayling "travel" but little.— seeking their homes for 
the Summer and remaining there. If frightened out of 
them, the}' speedily return when the dangei- is past. A 
hole once fished out is fished out for the Siunmer. They 
are very peaceable, bodi among themselves and with other 
fish, and do not drive each other out of favorite places. 

As to size, I heard of grayling being caught in Cheboy- 



290 



CRAY LINO. — NORTIIEEN MICHIGAN. 



gun river, weighing two pounds. In the Au Sable, the 
hirgest caught in 1879, up to tlie date we were there, 
wa.'^ eigiiteen inclies long and weighing one pound and 
eight ounces. A pound grayling, measuring fifteen inches, 
was taken by a party which we met at the hotel. One of 
sexcnteen inches in length weighed one pound and seven 
ounces. 1'lie average weight of 950 fi.sli taken by the party 
was one-third of a pound each. 

1 am iii(lel>ted to Mv. JelTerson Wiley, of Detroit, INIich. 
for a copy of the tisliing record (which I give l)elow)ma(l( 
In the company referred to, as well as for much other 
valualile information about grayling and their cai)ture. 

KECOED, SIX days' GRAYLING FISHING. 



1879, July 


U 


17 


18 


19 


20 


21 


6 days 


Hev. Dr. Hexford .. 

Mrs. Hex ford 

Mr. Tomlinson 

Mr iS'ewcoml) 

lAIr Wih'v 


13 



20 

,11 


25 
14 
42 

;>s 

30 


5(; 

9 
47 
31 
43 


44 
27 
30 
29 
93 


22 

TS 

47 
35. 
32 


23 
() 

;t2 

43 
35 


182 

75 
218 
187 
288 






Totals 


104 


149 


186 


223 


149 


139 


950 



]Mr. Wiley w^as the only expert tTsherman of the numl)ei', 
and they all fished with moderation. 

Grayling take the My with great eagerness when feeding, 
but, like trout, .sometimes " play " al)Out the lure in frolic- 
some leaps. When in earnest, tlie}^ rush and lea]) Avith all 
the vigor and (piickness of the trout, seize the lly almost 
unerringly and firmly, hooking themselves. They respond 
to the first cast or two; and, if they miss, jump two or 
three times, even when near the boat, before abandoning 



ORAYLINfi. 291 

the pursuit. They take the fly almost equally Avell above 
the water, on the surface, or beucatliit; but my own obser- 
vation led nie to think the last is their favorite method. 

When hooked, they make a vigorous rush, and seek to 
run under logs and brush. If the water is cold and the 
tisli in best condition, it leaps two or three limes like a bass, 
lifs/iirtf/ /fs sides wiih its tail. The tish of the ]\Ianist<'e. 
which is a very cold stream, almost invarial)ly leap out of 
water wlien struck, wliile those in the An Sable, not so 
cold, generally do not. 

The appearance of the grayling in the water, when 
hooked and excited and struggling, is something beautifvd 
to see, — the large dorsal tin being the most conspicuous and 
noticeable feature. The colors of both the dorsal and pec- 
toral tins are rich and deli* ale beyond descri])tion, — the 
violet, pearl)" and golden tints and rainbow hues, marvel- 
ously contrasted ^uld blended. The back is dark olive- 
l)rown; the sides and belly, silvery; the Ixxly, slim and 
graceful ; the head small, mouth of medium size and ten- 
der: tail, forked and broad ; and the adipose tin shows his 
ro3'al lineage. 

The grayling is a spirited tighter, for a few miiuites, but 
he does not seem to me to have the "bottom " of the trout, 
nor to display ([uitc the trout's savagery. 

When taken fresh from the water and cooked, the meat of 
the grayling is firm and the flavor delici(His; but I nuist 
still think the trout bears oiT the palm for excellence. 

Flies for grayling Ashing should be of medium size — 
between a large and very small trout-fly. Large flies 



292 GRAYLING. — NORTHERN MICHIGAN. 

"scare the tish." Brown-haekle is called the l)est, — the 
iii-iz/Jj'-kiiig, good. Tlie local tishermen say, "Avoid hriuht 
ml in your liies;" but Mr. Wiley had tine success with 
the red lly. A good trout-cast of small Hies is well adapted 
to grayling fishing. Change llie cast only foi- dark and 
light days (bright files lor dark days); make no change for 
seasons. 

Handling the rod in this fishing differs in 'no resju'ct 
from casting for Irout, except that it is sometimes well to 
let the files sink two or three inches in the water, and there 
is less necessity for the aiert "strike;"' while it nuist b( 
remembered that the grayling has a tender nidulli. 

lie is a sim])le, unsophisticated fish, not wily, but sh\ 
and timorous. He is a " free biter," and is bound to di- 
iippear before the nuiltidude of rods waved ovei- his devoted 
head. The sport he aflords in his capture, the taste he 
gi'alities in the frying-pan, and the ailurenienls of Ihc 
charming streams he inhabits, all conspire with his sim 
l>licity to destroy him. Could he but learn wisdom from 
his ci-imson-spotted cousin, and would tlie sportsman liaxc 
pity on this beautiful and gentle ci-eature of the smoothl\^ 
gliding rivers, he would long live to wave tlu; banner of 
beauty and glory in the cold, clear streams of the North. 
But that cannot be. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

We took the noon train, noitlnvard, to Gaylord. the 
northern terminus of the Juekson, Saginaw and I.ausinL!, 
R. R. There i>rociiring- ;i team, we were conveyed din-etly 
across the wilderness, twelv^e miles Avestward, to Elmira. 
through a heavy forest of beach, maple and hemlock. AVc 
saw many incipient pleasant homes and future rich farms 
on the Avay, chopped and hewn out in the heart of the 
wilderness. Elmira is a town consisting of a single liouse 
in the woods, on the Grand Rapids and Indiana li. R. AVe , 
flagged up a train and took passage to Petoskey, on Little 
Traverse Bay. This is a wonderfully bright little town, 
five or six j^ears old, " beautiful for situation." whence one 
may gaze out over the blue waters of the charming Ba}', 
and upon the distant and broader waters of Lake Michigan 
beyond, — and dream of peace without heal, dust, or dis 
(!omfort of any sort but a crowded hotel. 

" Bay View," a mile north, is a famous camping ground 
oi the Methodist Episcopal Church of the West, and is I lie 
favorite summer resort of thousands of people of all 
denominations. 

Taking an early morning train, we retraced oui- way to 
Boyne Falls, proceeding thence through the woods si.\ 
miles l)y stage over a good road to Boyne, a hamlet at the 
head of the TNortli Arm' of Pine Lake. Tlie Boyne river, 



294 GRAYLING. — NORTHERN MICHIGAN. 

one of the celebrated trout streams of Northern 3Iichigan, 
enters the lake here. It is not over tAventy or thirty feet 
wide, but is "cutout" for six miles, affording extended 
fishing grounds notwithstanding its proportions. The trout 
of this stream are said to be larger than in the Jordan, 
which enters the South Arm of the same lake. They have, 
however, a partiality for Ijait, and there is little or no suc- 
cess with the fly. Wf wanted to trj^ these waters, but 
could not devote to it the rainy morning which befell us. 

A. J. Hall, a genuine woodsman, intelligent, active and 
good-hearted, keeps a small hotel at Boyne, and attends to 
the wants of fishermen. We afterwards luid six'cial occa- 
sion to remember him kindly. 

Taking passage on a little stcMincr llial plies 1 he waters 
of Pine Lake, we enjoyed a two hours" ride to the ijuaint 
old town of (yharlevoix, that stands pei'clicd on the high 
bank of the short river emptying Pine Lake into Lake 
Michigan. After dinner we engaged a l)oatm;ui, — a bright- 
looking young fellow, who haughtily bore tiie distinction 
of being the favorite "poler" of A. B. Turner, of Grand 
Rapids, the most celebrated angler of Michi.i4an. A¥e felt 
sure he was the best man for us in all that country, — but 
we were as verdant and anserine in our judgment af5 the 
"poler" was lazy, mendacious,and generall}' worthless. The 
truth was, as we learned later, that he frequently needed a 
good ducking — which Turner, on occasion, was entirely 
willing and able to give him. 1 am happy io add that he 
does not live in Charlevoix. 1 have respect for that bit of 
antiquity. 



UP THE .lORD AN.— Webster's — jefp. 295 

With boat and man on board, we steamed away, Avith 
charming sceneiy near ns on either shore, to the head of 
South Arm, and were soon rowing up the Jordan against 
a strong curieut, toward the promised land. The river, 
after a brief progress up-stream, became too rapid for tlie 
use of oars, and the iron-pointed pole was brought into 
requisition. The stream strongl3M-esembles the An Sable, — 
the clear,andcold water, tlie swift-gliding current, the hea\\v- 
wooded banks and over-hanging trees, all seeming to have 
1)een mysteriously transported from the river in the east to 
the westward flowing stream. 

Our advance was slow and difficult, and it was nightfall 
when we gladly disembarked, live miles up the river, and 
walked half a mile inland to the rustic forest-home of John 
I>. Webster. There we were comfortably entertained for 
the night, and also foiuid a pleasant party of fishermen 
from Akron, Ohio, with whom we forthwith fraternized. 

The following nidrning we entered with si)irit upon the 
trout fishing of the singh' (lay which we had allowed our- 
selves on the .Jordan, (xoing uj) the river a mile and a 
half, our i)oler declai'ed we were at the head of the good 
fishing, and pointed the boat down stream and held it fast. 
That was the proper moment for Jeff's ducking! The truth 
was not" in him, — the best fishing was above us; but so was 
the hard poling. Our ignorance, however, was bli.ssful as 
yet, and it is pleasant to renienilxT that for a brief season 
we enjoj^ed the delusif)n. 

The day was (jxceedingly bright and warm. The trout 
that could not have seen our every motion, for double the 



290 GTIAYTJNO. — KOP.TirEl^K MTCHIGAN. 

length of a cast, would not have been worth tlie taking. 
The stream had been dtiily whipped and threshed, from its 
mouth to the still blockaded region above, from the open- 
ing day of Spring- fishing until this 25th of July, by throng- 
ing fishermen from all parts of the countr\\ The trout left 
in that ^vat.er3' highway were as well educated in all the 
"arts and wiles" as the gamins dodging about among tjie 
legs of men and horse's feet in the crowded city street. 

I rigged ni}^ fly-rod with special care, adjusting a most 
killing cast of flies. 

"You can't catch anything with the fly, now," said 
Jeff. ; " June is the time for that." 

" Oh, well, Jeff., we'll try a hand, — it's too bad to come 
so far to fish with worms, you know." 

'■ Tliat line is too large," said Jeff., giving my oiled silk 
a most contemptuous glance. 

"Very well," I replied, "here's one" producing another 
reel and line read}' foranj' emergency, " and this, certainly, 
is small enough." 

"Perhaps so," continued Jeff., with a dubious air, "but 
that's no sort of a reel for this work ; — and 3'our rod is too 
limpsy ; — your flies ain't the right size or color. I tell you, 
5'ou can't get trout with the fly now — June's the time. — 
That sort of casting won't do for trout, either, — you won't 
never get one at that rate." 

I was proudly doing my verj- finest work, and the com- 
ments of this wise poler — "Turner's favorite" — were not 
pleasant but grievous. It was now certainly about time 
for Jeft'.'s duckino! I considered the matter, — but the 



THK WThiE POLER. — JOEDAN. — CHAELEYOIX. 297 

lono'ov T considered, tlie more I thought my need of Jeff. 
was o-reater tlinn Jeff.'s needOf me, — and I " took it out " 
mainly in hiting my li]is and wisliing- Jeff.'s nose would 
snaj) up my tail-fly, just in the niek of a vigorous east of 
the line, without, however, involving me in an}" moral 
responsibility. I should have "played " liim with a gentle- 
ness and compassion only equalled in tenderness hy that 
of g(t(Ml old Tza;d^ Walton when lie sewed up the frog's 
mouth. It is true. I said somethihg— that was human 
natun — but only "Avords! words!" 

When Jeff, iiad lieen in a measure reihiced to silence and 
subordination, we proceeded again with our tisliing, my 
tricnd \\'\\\\ bait and I with tiies. Here and tliercAvc picked 
up a trout, the modest tiy and luunble worm in friendly 
(■(inlcst, and neither gaining a lead wortli tioasting of. Jetf. 
was answered, however, for the My did t:dve trout, the 
"1 mpsy" rod brought them to basket, — and it wasn't June, 
either. Changing fi'om I1y to bait and back again, 1 had 
about ('(|ual fortune with (>aeh. l>ut the day was against 
us, the l)est hours of the late afternoon were lost in return- 
ing over troutless waters to the steamer ; and we brought 
away more delightful memories of the river itself than w^e 
did of its famous swift.-tlashing trout. It is a glorious 
stream (I was not blinded to that) and 1 have no doubt it 
deserves all the Idgh ])raise it has received. Everybody 
told us, however, that it had been over run all summer and 
" tislied to death." It is every year tished more and more, 
— and so will pass away tlie giorj^ of the .lordan. 

The steamer was in waiting. Jeff., the unmitigated, and 



298 GRAYLTNd.— XOr.TTTERN MT( IFKiAN. 

his boat were got aboard, and we followed. Arriving at 
Charlevoix, we found the hob^l full to ovcrllowing, but 
were comfortably cared for at a cleanly boarding house. 

When the next morning came the chvuch bell rang, but 
likewise blew the wliistle of the little steamer "Clara 
Belle," which was loaded with the rustics of Bo^ne, South 
Arm, Jordan and the scattered homes and hamlets in the 
woods, — otf for an exciu'sion to tlie Island of j\rackinaw. 
To " kill time,*" or " make time V" — that was the (|uestion. 
On due consideration, we choose the latter, and went on 
boanl with the excursionists and pursued our appointed 
journ(\v. 

If it were not such an old, old wonder and beauty, it 
might l)e worth while to attempt to descrilie that perfect 
da3\ with tlie blue, diincing watei's l>eneath, and the 
blue, dee|» and serene sky above ; the green for- 
ests crowding down to the sandy shore,; the pure air, — 
dustless, odorless and noiseless, — fanning the cheek in 
gentlest breezes. The people of the INIiddle West have 
found the secret of healthful enjojinent on their magnili- 
ceut lakes. When summer heats come down with blight- 
ing and enervating effect, the excursion steamers, bearing 
famil}" groups and merry parties of friends, speed away 
to the North. On the dancing waves of grand old Supe- 
rior, along the cool, forest-clad shores, far from carkiug 
care and thronging men and withering heat, these Wise 
Men of the West gather and garner new vigor, and bear 
homeward with them pictures of marvelous beauty and 
memories of happiest days. 



LAKE EXCURSION. — ISLAND OF MACKINAW. 299 

The rustic people with whom we were thrown, this day, 
were an houest, quiet company. The women rather plainly 
showed, in their sallow faces and angular forms, the care 
and hardships of pioneer life and lonii', northern win- 
ters. The men, although more robust and of healthier 
countenance, were yet thinner and less buo3^ant in spirit 
than a similar party in the East. 

A melodeon, placed on board for the occasion, discoursed 
music at frecjuent intervals, while the people listened in a 
solemn way. Quiet, neighborly visiting among the older 
people, and harmless flirtations between the modest j^oung 
people, were in progress all over the boat. At length, 
lunch time came, and numerous baskets were produced on 
deck, which turned out an enormous quantity of toothsome 
edibles. No basket was more bountiful in good things 
than that of A. J. Hall, the inn-keeper of Boyne. Our 
hungry eyes ( tell-tale exponents of something else ) opened 
his generous heart, and we were feasted as liberally as if 
we too were from the woods of the Boyne or the Jordan. 

The ^Michigan shore was, all along, plainly visible on our 
right, but at length, almost imperceptibly rising above the 
waves on the north, like a summer cloud the Northern 
Peninsula aj^peared. Our com'se had been, so far, almost 
north, but now swerving eastward we sough! the passage 
through the Straits of Mackinaw. Historic jilaces were 
pointed out to strangers, the narroAving channel brought 
the wild shores )iear us for insjiection and admiration, and 
in the distance rose the rocky heights and preci])itf>us 
shores of the Island of Mackinaw itself, on whose crowning- 
point stands the fort and where waved the American flag. 



300 GRAYLINCt. — KOHTHERN MICHIGAN. 

The outlines grew sharper, the rocks towered higher, as 
Ave approached. We swung into the harbor, neared the 
dock, and in a nionu'nt more stepped on shore among the 
hackmen, the loiterers and the summer visitors who had 
come down from the hotels. Wending our way lo the 
John Jacob Astor House, we found our friends of the Jor- 
dan, who had kindly gathered up our mail at various 
points and gave it to us here. 

We learned that in two hours the good steamer, the 
Marine Citi/, was due fnnn the Sault de St. Marie (" the 
Soo ") whither it had gone with a Dc^troit excursion party. 
We resolved to ''keep moving" toward home by every 
opportimity, and to take this steamer that evening for 
Detroit. The interval l)etween our arrival and that of the 
steamer we eniployed in raml)ling about the (piaint, peace- 
ful, dreanw town, strolling along the shores, and clamber- 
ing among the rocks l)y the water's edge to Arch Rock — a 
" natural bridge " Avhich has been described and pictured 
so often that 1 oidy stop to say it did not " meet expecta- 
tions.'' 

We had time to catch the spirit of this strange old town 
of the North, sitting a t[iieen where the Heels of the iidand 
seas float east and west through the nari'ow way at her 
feet, and pause to pay homage. It seemed the Castle of 
Indolence of the cold North where the Vikings might rest 
in peace and content after Avars and bloodslied, — itithei", the 
summer home of the old Thunder-God, Thor himself, where 
the Avild Avinds Avould murmur him to sleep. ]5ettei-, 
it is iudciKl the resting phice of the Aveary men of the South, 



STEAMER. — MACKINAW TO DETROIT. 301 

where the purest air, the serenest days, the most serious 
scenery, and the far off, dreamy gaze over tlie -waves will 
lull and soothe and restore the worn mind and the tired 
heart. It was with relu(;tance — ^^almost with sadness — thai 
we gazed our too early farewell to the historic and romantic 
island, while we stood on the upper deck and the steamer 
moved silently out upon the darkening w^aters and into the 
evening shades, — the steamer's band, meanwhile, discours- 
ing strains of music tranquilizing. tender, and soft as the 
ambient air or the mirrordike waters beneath. The long, 
quiet evening on the water followed. We sat on the upper 
deck in easy chairs, and talked of the streams and woods, of 
old college days together, of the homes and home-ones we 
were journeying toward, of those we shall see no more on 
this side of the River, of — but we were tAvo old friends, 
boys together once, "old boys" now, — and it is ours to 
remember what we talked. — It was late, very late, when 
we went to our state-rooms 

All night long the good vessel ploAved her way through 
the silvery waters, trembling through every fibre with lier 
eager ardor. All day long she moved with the supt-rb 
strength born of fire and steel and vapor. She halted at 
the coast towns to take on and discharge passengers and 
freight; the band l)eguiled the waiting-time, and we 
traiujied up and down the streets \uitil the whistle sounded 
a return. The wdnd came up fresh. I remember how 
easil}- and with an airy grace quite exqiusite, my ^NFacki- 
naw hat lifted from my head and sailed off into the Huron 
i(> commit jWo de ae — the sixth suicide of the sort on the 
steamer's trip. 



302 GKATLING. — NORTHERN MTCIITGAN. 

The sunset, that evening, was matchless in beauty, but 
grew terrific to see and feel. The angry orb wrapped him- 
self in tinted clouds which he dyed in blood. As the dark- 
ness came down, thunder.-^ crashed and rattled through all 
the air. Lightnings smote downward from the sky into 
the black, heaving bosom of the water, like tlie avenging 
sword of an archaniiel. Winds shrieked and howled among 
the ropes and chains like affrighted spirits of evil. Then 
came the dash and pour and din of the torrents of rain, — 
the blackness of darkness, impenetrable to the eye save b}' 
the frequent lightning shafts, adding its horrid majesty to , 
the scene. It was, altogether, something fearful and grand; 
and the tales that were whispered, of wreck and disaster on 
these stormy waters, lent additional gloom to the night and 
tempest. 

However, all that passed, and the morning came in peace 
and beauty, as if summer sun never grew angry and sum- 
mer skies never frowned nor grew black in the face. 
Through the St. Clair, with its suggestions of fisliing and 
duck -shooting, and down the Detroit River, with charm- 
ing resorts along its banks, we glided on our way. I'hc 
last good dinner on the Marine Cif// was hiistily eaten, ^\'e 
rose from the table, gathered u|) our slender luggage, 
walked over the gang-plank, and were in Detroit. There 
we separated, — our week in the Northern AV^ildeiMiess of 
Michigan ended. 



R C24. 



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